The Last Dragon: Book One

CHAPTER TWO

Lord Kent and his manservant, an older gentleman called Pallor because of his pale complexion, arrived in the garden. Pallor was interesting, if for no other reason than he didn’t appear to partake in palace intrigue, yet his young master had been born cunning and crafty. The dichotomy always drew Elizabeth’s attention, as it did mine.

They were an unusual fit, and Lord Kent had the influence and power to choose servants far more prestigious and fitting for his role in life than Pallor. Elizabeth had mentioned the oddness of their relationship more than once. Not that there was anything suspect or nefarious to consider. Quite the opposite, in her opinion. She believed there was far more color to Pallor than his pale skin.

As for myself, his quiet ways and stoic manner impressed me so much that at times I attempted to imitate them. But my attempts probably failed to convey the quiet confidence and intelligence he portrayed. I didn’t miss the twitch at the corners of his mouth when his eyes met mine. No, he wouldn’t smile while working because that was not his station, and a smile might, in some circumstances, put his master in an awkward position.

Still, I’d not missed the twitch and did my best to return the same with a minuscule turn of my lips. We took up our respective positions behind the royal couple, trailing them by precisely six steps. We were close enough to hear their demands of us, yet not so close we intruded on their private conversation.

“Lord Kent, so glad you could find the time to rejoin me,” Elizabeth used her sweetest tone for the greeting.

Lord Kent puffed himself up and took his place at her side, to her left, of course. That placed her on his right, the subservient side. Despite his young age, he already knew more about power and how to subtly demonstrate it than many doddering old royals.

He waved an arm at the garden as if he was solely responsible for it. “I love walking in the gardens as the plants come to life after a hard winter.”

She smiled softly and batted her eyelashes. The pale blue of her long gown matched her eyes perfectly. “I suppose there is a parable about life in your observation, but I’m never clever enough to decipher things like that. Your forgotten meeting this morning went well?”

Despite wearing different clothing, Lord Kent’s eyes flicked down to his groin area as if to confirm no other wet stain had emerged. His tone was pleasant. “Yes, very well.”

The primary task for Pallor and myself was that we were also the protectors of our masters as well as servants. I wore a conspicuous sword. The silver caps of the scabbard were decorated with gold filigree, a lacework of intertwined vines. Where flowers should bloom, gemstones sparkled. All of that was purely for show.

Inside the decorative sheath rested a thin sword made of the finest Malawian polished steel with no decoration on the blade to detract from its deadly purpose. The blade was surprisingly light and agile in my hand. The single edge was sharp enough to slice in half the most delicate kerchief tossed into the air. Hundreds of hours of practice made my moves with the sword as smooth as those of any maiden on a dance floor.

Others preferred the popular heavy two-handed broadswords. They were nearly as tall as a man and heavy enough to chop firewood. A single downward swipe would split an enemy from head to waist in a single blow. I’d seen it happen.

Elizabeth had once questioned me about my choice of a weapon, subtly suggesting carrying one similar to others. I’d said, “My blade will quickly slice a man three or four times, if not deeply, and perhaps stab him twice before he can raise his broadsword high enough to swing once in my direction.”

“That’s it? That’s all you intend?” she asked as if offended. “You slice instead of kill?”

Ignoring her interruption, I continued, “Most men, even the best of warriors, will stop after they are cut a few times, and he hasn’t yet managed to lift his sword for his first swing. The flick of my blade will discourage an enemy from a fight—so the victory will be mine.”

“If he does not quit at your flicking?” She had asked, ever probing and questioning those around her and meaning no disrespect by the questions.

“Then my intention is to run like the wind.”

“Run?” She giggled. “My sworn protector will run at the sight of an upraised broadsword? Why? Is it not your task to fight for me to your death?”

“And that will happen. However, I’ll do it from ten more steps back from where your enemy raised that beast of a sword, and maybe another ten steps if he chases me and tires. I have no intention of standing up to such a formidable weapon with my little sword.”

“Your solution?” She prompted me. “If your sword isn’t enough?”

“A bolt fired from a crossbow, a knife thrown, or a well-aimed flower pot thrown in his direction all come to mind. Along with a pike, spear, arrow, or heavy rock. Anything I can grab and use as a weapon to attack from a distance, so I’m not sliced in half.”

Her eyes pierced mine. She said, “A little touch of magic will make any of those weapons strike your opponent accurately and with power. You will not miss.”

“No, that will not happen. And that same touch of magic will cause it to travel at deadly speeds. There are times when instead of controlling my magic, it controls me.” The same subject had been discussed many times.

Today, while in the Royal Rose Garden, she walked with her hands clasped behind her waist, out of Lord Kent’s sight, but where they were in sight for me. They communicated with me in a fashion only we understood. A wriggle of her index finger told me to reduce my speed, so the space between us increased. She wanted to say something privately to Lord Kent without Pallor or myself overhearing it.

I slowed my pace and Pallor matched my slightly smaller and slower strides. We walked side by side, eight paces back behind our masters instead of six. A glance at Pallor revealed he had slightly raised his eyebrows as he looked my way in question, yet he said nothing. But there was no doubt he had noticed.

His eyes left mine and darted ahead of the royal couple, then to either side and finally behind us. He sensed no danger but remained wary. We were alone, the four of us. His hand rested on the knob of the cane he used to walk with, a generally accepted concession to his age yet he carried no sword.

He was good at his service to his master, a skill much appreciated. Only a slight whitening of his fingers revealed the pressure he placed on an unknown trigger on the cane. His fingers had subtly changed position on the handle of the cane as his body tensed. The cane was not an affectation or a crutch as people believed, but a weapon. I was sure of it. Possibly a thin rapier hid inside it, or even a hated tri-cornered sword. They said the cuts from swords with three sharp edges never heal properly.

Despite Elizabeth’s signal to me, our increased pace again closed the distance to six paces again to relieve Pallor’s suspicions. Whatever she had wished to communicate had already taken place. She would appreciate knowing about the secret weapon in his cane. Not because it scared her, but because knowledge is power in the palace. You never know when the smallest detail will become useful.

The double doors at the end of the garden swung open, and my nemesis Avery confidently strode through them. His head was turned to one side, facing the woman he escorted. She was a tall brunette with chestnut highlights that fell to her shoulders. Her dress was butter-yellow and matched her dainty shoes. She held his elbow pressed to her breast as he led her into the secluded rose garden which was forbidden for all to enjoy, but royalty.

I’d heard mention of her in many rumors, and recognized her instantly, but had never seen Princess Anna. This was the first I’d laid eyes on the beauty from the uplands of Mercia Provence, where they said dragons crowded against each other for enough room in the sky to fly in the thin mountain air. Her father was an obscure earl or duke, or some-such. Royal enough to be royal, but a hundred or more steps from sitting on the throne.

Even so, she was a royal and Avery was not. That in itself drew our four pairs of astonished eyes. Yes, there have been romances between freemen and royals, usually discrete and brief. Avery was not even the rank of a freeman, but a lowly servant. Whispers of older royals and servants caught in bed always spread around any palace, true or not. However, the idea of a servant publicly and openly escorting a nubile princess through the Royal Rose Gardens of the east wing was unthinkable.

Avery’s wide, surprised eyes located us in the normally empty garden. Fear replaced the surprise.

Pallor cleared his throat in a warning to draw my attention. A slight shift to look at him told me to observe his master. Lord Kent’s face almost glowed red with anger. Lady Elizabeth paled and appeared faint—and that was why Pallor had drawn my attention. My duty was to protect Elizabeth and not question the intruder who brazenly broke the rules. Elizabeth needed me before she swooned and fell, or fainted, or whatever it was she was about to do. My situation required me to swoop in and rescue her in order for her actions to be believable.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and the back of her hand went to her forehead, as we’d seen actors do before fainting. She swayed unsteadily, weaving first to one side and then the other. Another servant would have already leaped to her aid. However, in my defense, in all the years I’d known her, she had never once fainted. Therefore, my response was slow.

I’d seen her clean fish, gut squirrels and deer, dig holes for corral posts, and fell trees with an ax. She held her own when we practiced with wooden swords and out shot me with a bow. Now and then she still pinned me when we wrestled, and her fierce punches had left multi-colored bruises on most of my body when we boxed.

The point being, Elizabeth was strong and didn’t faint at the sight of unpleasantness or broken rules.

However, in this case, her knees wobbled, and Pallor had hissed at me to act. He actually hissed like a snake to get me moving. My legs carried me to her side as if she was on fire. After reaching her, barely in time, it seemed to any observer, Lady Elizabeth collapsed into my arms.

I lowered her to the soft grass of the winding path and wondered what she expected me to do next. It was her show. I’d go along, but she needed to lead me, to guide me on the performance we were to play. In the meantime, I fawned over her.

When my ear was near her lips, she whispered, “Take me to Kendra.”

My sister. She wanted to go to my sister, which was to say she wanted to go to her apartment. It seemed Lord Kent threw caution to the wind as he ignored the sins of Avery, and he knelt at Elizabeth’s side. He patted the back of her limp hand. It seemed to help. Pallor remained on guard for all of us.

Avery and the princess had disappeared back through the door from where they had first appeared.

I managed to get Elizabeth to her feet and placed an arm around her waist to hold her upright while assuring Lord Kent she would survive. He wrung one hand with the other, and his anger boiled, his face still as red as an apple.

He said, “I will meet with the Heir Apparent this day and will straighten it out. I understand bending a rule here and there but shattering them so callously calls for stern action and Avery will pay for his overstepping the bounds of royalty.”

Elizabeth reached a limp arm in his direction, her fingers wiggling in place of a wave, and from the groan she emitted, it must have been a painful action. She croaked hoarsely and theatrically, “Go, Kent. Do what you must.”

I almost laughed. “Don’t overact,” I whispered.

“But what about you?” Lord Kent hesitated, although clearly wishing to rush off and confront Avery. “I can’t leave you here.”

“Damon will care for me as he always does. Please, you have to hurry. Don’t hold back for my sake any longer.”

Lord Kent stood, shoulders back, and pointed to Pallor. “Take me to him.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth called after them, just loud enough for Lord Kent to hear and be spurred onward. When the other door to the garden slammed closed, her eyes snapped open and her brows furrowed. Her body went rigid.

She ordered, “Get me to my damn feet. We have work to do.”

“We?”

“Shut up and try to keep up with me for a change.”

Laughter bubbled at her rude comment, but within the passage of a few hallways, I had little breath to spare for trivial things like laughter. Every breath was required to keep up with the female zealot of a princess charging ahead. We passed others, servants, freemen, and royals, never slowing or explaining, nor did one in her station of life need to. I, on the other hand, looked over my shoulder more than once at the startled expressions we left behind and mouthed apologies.

The flight to her apartment was like lawn bowling with people instead of wooden pegs. Dozens of apologies were due, but we never slowed. Elizabeth threw open the door to her apartment and snapped in my direction, “Bar the damned door. We don’t need anyone else barging in here while we’re busy.”

Kendra was sitting at the small desk, a quill pen in her hand. She looked up as we entered, then leaped to her feet with concern. “What?” she asked.

“A map. We need a map,” Elizabeth said, pulling open the doors of a cabinet.

“Which one? I’ll run and fetch it from the library,” I offered.

She spun around to face me as if I’d slapped her. She snarled, “So that everyone in the entire palace will know that we not only need a map, but they will know which one and wonder why I’m interested in that location? Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” my quivering lips muttered. “Because I have no idea of what just happened.”

“A map, a simple map of the kingdom, is that too much to ask for?” Elizabeth began pulling anything and everything from the ornate cupboard in her office.

Kendra saved the day. “Here is one. It’s small, but will it help?”

Elizabeth paused to look as if she was starving and the map was a serving of pudding. “Yes!”