The Last Dragon: Book One

CHAPTER THREE

Elizabeth unrolled and peered at the extremely small map, which was no larger than a splayed hand. It lay spread upon the desktop as the three of us tried to read the tiny print. Bending over to observe it, Elizabeth squinted and moved her head closer, as did I. She ordered in a demanding tone, “Damon, make it bigger with your magic.”

I mentally stretched the map equally in all directions until it covered the entire top of the small desk and Elizabeth smiled her thanks and bent closer to see it. Kendra and I did the same. The detail and printing had also spread with the parchment and as a result had become less distinct, giving the overall appearance that the map had faded. I washed a contrast spell over it, enhancing the black of the ink while fading the background to a paler shade of tan. While not knowing what we were looking for, we watched Elizabeth’s eyes and then followed her index finger as it moved across the map until it paused.

The squiggle of a stream or river meandered down the left side, and in a wide bend of that river was one word: Mercia. That was the name of the walled city the princess in yellow we’d seen in the garden came from.

Her pointing finger confirmed all of us were thinking along the same lines. Mercia. Why had Avery escorted a princess from Mercia into the Rose Garden? However, as usual, Elizabeth was well ahead of us.

Kendra further examined the map and pointed to Dire, the location of the King’s palace named Crestfallen, our home. One was near the upper right corner of the map, the other most of the way down the left side. About as far from one another as they could be and still occupy the same kingdom.

My voice was barely above a whisper, “Mercia is where the dragons live. If they are not a myth.”

Elizabeth’s head abruptly came up, and she locked eyes with me briefly before turning and rushing to the shelf containing a dozen thick books, which seemed to me to be enough reading to occupy a person for a lifetime. Her hand hovered over one, then changed to another. She removed it from the shelf and opened to the index.

Quickly finding what she searched for, she fanned the pages with her thumb until pausing at one. She read a few lines and turned to another page before exclaiming, “You’re right, Damon.”

The good news was she had admitted my statement was right, an unusual occurrence in itself. The less than good part of her outburst was in having no idea of what I’d been right about. Asking for clarification would only make me look stupid again, so I simply grinned and shrugged as if understanding whatever it was all along.

She carried the open book cradled in her hands and pushed it in my direction. “See here?”

I didn’t. My pathetic smile widened in a vain attempt to distract her.

Elizabeth placed the book on the tabletop beside the map while Kendra came to my rescue. She was already reading the lines in the book above the colorful illustration of a dragon out loud. She quoted, “Wyverns are creatures consisting of one pair of wings and one pair of legs. Drakes are true dragons and have one pair of wings and two pairs of legs. They are said to be much larger and fiercer than common wyverns and thought to be extinct or mythical.”

Revealing my ignorance, even after Kendra read from the book as fact, Words tumbled from my mouth as if the act couldn’t be prevented, much like hic-ups. “All dragons are myths. No matter what name they are called—or how many legs they have. Everyone knows that.”

Kendra placed her hands on her hips as she said, “Maybe they were real at one time.”

Elizabeth said, “Wyverns are real. We all know that.”

“I’ve never seen one of those, either,” I said, adding to my petulant reputation, in the same manner that a four-year-old child might. “Dragons or wyverns, the name makes no difference.”

“Princess Anna traveled here from Mercia,” Elizabeth said. “She tells about them filling the skies above the city.”

Kendra, who seemed lost and confused, remained quiet as she watched, listened, and tried to learn what we knew. Her problem was she should only have listened to Elizabeth because I had no idea of where the conversation was leading, and little about where it had been. My eyes went to the indistinct words on the map again.

Kendra nodded sagely as if she began to understand.

Elizabeth stood taller and said, “Princess Anna arrived from Mercia unexpectedly and requested an immediate emergency audience with our King. Why? We all wondered, why, but we also knew he was too ill to accept visitors, so we didn’t pursue our inquiries as to the reason.”

“In our defense,” Kendra said, “We have all been extremely busy the last few days.”

“Working on the wrong questions, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth snapped, sounding as irritated as she’d been in months.

Being a man who lived with two women, and therefore considered half-stupid at all times by them, and mostly-stupid in all matters of the court, I’d learned years ago when to remain quiet during times like these. They might already think me stupid but speaking would only convince the two women of it again.

Kendra said, “You obviously see something we do not.”

Elizabeth spun on me, her index finger on her chin as she thought. “Was Princess Anna present at a secret audience with the King? She did not make a second request, and yet she remains here.”

If she had been there, it was a secret—so how the hell would I know? However, I bit my lip and considered how to find out. “There is a clerk to the Minister of Defense, actually a scribe who owes me for defending him against an irate cousin of yours. It seems he had miswritten the intent of a note, not the words that were dictated to him. Your cousin, the rude spinster named Sara, tore into him.”

“You rescued him in return for a future favor?”

“She was unreasonable, and I helped him, but yes, he does owe me. As the Defense Minister’s lead scribe, he would be present in case anything needed to be recorded between a meeting of the King and Princess Anna.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Yet, he is sworn to keep secret all that he observed and what was said at any such encounter. He will not violate that oath and live. His master would personally order him drawn and quartered if he told you anything of value that was to be kept secret.”

I finished her thought, “Perhaps admitting in some manner that he attended a meeting does not violate any of his oaths since he would not reveal what transpired. The meeting itself is our interest, not the content. Since the King has granted nobody access or audience in months, a simple admission that he has been in the presence of the King would virtually confirm such a meeting took place. We can guess who was in attendance without him having to encroach upon his position.”

Kendra said, “Do you really believe Princess Anna is up to something?”

Elizabeth closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. “No, not her. She is a royal simpleton in a situation way over her head. She is little more than a messenger.”

“For whom?” Kendra said.

Elizabeth began to pace, always a bad sign. Her eyes were vacant, her jaw set. Then she snapped her fingers and spun on us. “For whom? We don’t know. This palace used to have four mages in residence. In years past, there were always three in-house, but a year ago the one called Twin appeared as the fourth member of the king’s cadre.” She chuckled softly, then quickly recovered, “Saying a mage appeared struck me as funny, like he used magic to get here, but that is beside the point. After all, that’s what they do, right? Anyhow, the fourth mage arrived to serve as part of the royal administration.”

“I have seen and watched him from afar,” Kendra said. “While young, his skills are masterful. There are rumors of jealousy from the other mages over his powers.”

“Not recently, Kendra. Let me ask you a simple question. How many are living in our palace today? No, those actually living in-house today?”

Kendra sensed a tricky inquiry and hesitated. The obvious answer was four, as they had just discussed, but that couldn’t be correct, or Elizabeth would never have asked the question. “I have neither seen nor heard of a few of them in days, maybe weeks, now that you mention it.”

“Exactly. There is only one still here. The new mage, Twin. My instincts tell me three have magically departed.” She snickered at her own silly joke again, before turning to me.

My face was fully under control, with no trace of humor, anger, or puzzlement evident. It was a face I practiced. When serving another, one must anticipate the needs, and when that fails, you are placed in an awkward position of holding steady on your course until ordered to change.

She said in an irritated tone, “Why are you still here instead of seeking out your clerk or scribe or whatever he is?”

“Just awaiting your further instructions, Elizabeth.” I gave a slight bow and backed away. Despite the unique relationship between her and my sister and me, the fact was we served at her privilege. If one day our ancestry demanded a change, an upgrade hopefully, she would be the first to congratulate and support us, but in the meantime, she spoke, and I obeyed.

She continued, to be clear, “My instructions were to go speak to your scribe and find a way to loosen his tongue that will not violate his oath of secrecy yet tell us what we need. I’d suggest asking him how that might best be accomplished instead of directly requesting the information. Just confirm the meeting between the princess and the king.”

“Anything else?” I asked, knowing there was. There always was. She also wanted me to find out about the absences of the mages yet hadn’t said as much.

Kendra said, “What is the relevance of all of this? Why is it so important?”

“Lord Kent,” My mouth spoke of its own accord, in a sudden burst of understanding. “His reaction in the garden was all wrong. We should have noticed that at the time.”

“Yes, he certainly had reason to stop and question the Heir Apparent’s servant, Avery, which is what he should have done on the spot. A simple question and answer for which there may have been a proper response. Avery may have been assigned to escort Princess Anna around the gardens. Instead, Lord Kent grew so angry it appeared his head might explode right off his body. Why did he react like that?”

“Because Lord Kent has also been seeing Princess Anna—in secret. That’s why he was so upset.” Something had finally managed to make sense to me. My chest puffed out in pride.

“And?” Elizabeth asked me pointedly, deflating my puffiness.

The feeling of pride diminished as fast as it had arisen. No response came to mind, and my pride took another beating.

Elizabeth waited a respectable time before helping me out. “Remember this morning he said he had a secret he was keeping from Avery and from me?”

“Of course,” I admitted, not knowing at all where she was going with the conversation.

Elizabeth threw her hand into the air theatrically. “Think. Princess Anna arrives from Mercia, the only place in the world where wyverns thrive, and she demands a meeting with the king, who is ill. Both Avery and Lord Kent occupy her time, plying her for information. Then, three mages and who knows how many others departed the palace in secret. It’s all connected.”

I didn’t bother admitting not understanding her logic, or to my stupidity for not doing so. My task was simply to verify a meeting. I headed for the north stables, where the minister’s offices had been moved a dozen years ago, an action that caused a stink in the palace. At least that was the local joke. The stink being the stables—and the move of the minister’s offices away from the royal wing.

As for myself, the smell of the stables was familiar and pleasant, which probably speaks to my lowborn beginnings. The scribe who was the subject of my visit was sitting fourth in a line of small desks, his larger and in better light from the window. Speaking to him directly would set tongues wagging.

He was older than me, smaller, and his eyes were intelligent. Our prior meetings had convinced me he was honorable in his work, and in repaying favors. Hopefully, that was not wrong.

The taskmaster was seated at the high desk front where he could keep a stern eye on his charges. My voice was slightly louder than necessary, ensuring the scribe would hear me and understand to offer help, “Princess Elizabeth requires the need of a royal scribe for a short time. Have you one who is between assignments or one that you can spare?”

My eyes met the eyes of the scribe I’d helped and wished to speak with. I raised my eyebrows slightly to encourage him to volunteer.

He quickly stood. “Sir, my assignment is nearly finished, and I can be of service to the Lady.”

The taskmaster growled at me, “How long will this take?”

How long didn’t really matter. It was a face-saving question. Princess Elizabeth wanted a scribe and would have one, no matter how long she required him. “One sheet neatly penned,” I lied. “The words are ready for transcription.”

He nodded and turned to the scribe, “Accompany him, Simon. Return quickly, there is more work for you.”

We departed together. Instead of taking him to Elizabeth’s quarters, we exited a side door and stepped out into the fresh air, a rare treat for someone doomed to work inside at a desk all day, most days. We walked together, past a small barn and into a patch of forest where a few rickety benches had been placed along the paths over the years. It was an area for a private conversation between friends under the shade of oaks and maples. In the winter, the lack of leaves on those same trees allowed the weak sun to warm those sitting.

“I have something to ask of you but need to determine how to best do it in a manner you can answer without you violating your oaths. Perhaps you can instruct me on best how to progress.”

“Thank you. Your friendship is appreciated, but I have sworn duties.” His attitude had turned formal and stiff. “What is it you need?”

“Good. You are honorable, as I believed. If I ask an improper question, will you simply raise a finger in warning to stop me from speaking?”

“Yes, that is something allowed.”

It would have pleased me to reveal to Elizabeth that through my clever and extraordinary insights, I extracted the required information with only a few words. The truth paled in comparison. With the first few words of every question, every scenario presented, and every prompted situation, his finger lifted, and my question was quashed. After what seemed like a hundred attempts, we were no closer to the truth we required.

On impulse, to change the subject and out of frustration, I finally attempted to make a joke. “Does the King wear royal-purple bedclothes when sleeping this time of the year, or does he sleep nude?”

Simon paused. His finger remained curled with the rest of them in his lap, and he smiled only a little. He knew from the previous questions what area of information we were seeking, yet each question had been rejected until now. Then he looked directly at me and said, “No.”

There! In one word he’d provided the information I required, for how else would he know for certain what color bedclothes my king wore or if he slept nude unless he’d seen for himself? Which now brought up the indirect question of why would he have been in the King’s bed-chamber? However, that was a question I could not, and would not, broach.

Even in the rules we’d set, there was a delicate line we’d toed, and any debt he owed had been more than paid. I smiled my thanks and said, “Now I am indebted to you. We have both been true to our masters and yet managed to do what is needed without breaking any oaths. This was important, or I wouldn’t have come to you.”

“Time for me to get back,” Simon said stiffly. “You do not have to accompany me and pretend you are my friend any longer.”

The turn of his attitude bothered me. Had he tread too lightly on his oath and now regretted it? Maybe. Was he concerned or disappointed in my demand for such a valuable favor in return for the small deed I’d done for him? Perhaps. Still, he had reason to hold his head high because he had answered honorably. It proved to me again that a favor owed can be a valuable asset—or burden.

The second part of my task was easier. Before entering the old wing, I’d stopped by the kitchen in the south wing and demanded, in Princess Elizabeth’s name, eight fruit tarts. I’d hoped for cherries, of course, because they are the best, but received plums, almost as good, and still warm. They also provided a pitcher of fresh milk.

After my quick visit to the kitchen on the ground floor, I walked with such light feet I might have skipped like a child all the way to the fourth floor. It was what we called the old wing, one of the few remaining portions of the original palace. Over five hundred years old, some said.

Old, yes. However, it stood more opulent than the newer areas. The ceilings were higher, the walls sheathed in slabs of nearly white granite cut from the Pearl Islands and sent here by ship. The floors were yellow oak planks thicker than my fist, even after several scrapings and refinishing over the years.

I’d always had an affinity for this part of the palace. The doors were the same yellow oak, thick and sturdy. The tapestries and the shape of the halls somehow absorbed sounds, or some said they shunted them away. Whatever may be correct, walking along the hallways in the old wing was a thing of quiet beauty.

Just before reaching the end of the hall, a single door beckoned. It stood beside a back stairway used only by the staff. Inside were tables for folding sheets and blankets that had been laundered on a floor below. After being cleaned, dried, and folded, they were placed on wide shelves, ready for use by visiting royalty.

There were three older chambermaids assigned to the royal rooms on this end of the floor. Men cleaned the hallways and stairs, but women too old to work at tasks requiring more physical activity were assigned to the bedding room as a reward for years of performing harder tasks. They cleaned spaces only when the guests were absent, which usually meant they worked from midday to supper if that.

Yes, the occupants of the royal suites were late sleepers, the lot of them. Not all were royals by any means, but there were royal handmaidens, wealthy merchants, owners of fleets of ships, high ranking army officers, priests, and even mages and sorceresses.

Inside the laundry room sat and gossiped the three women I’d wished to encounter with my gifts in hand. They were cranky, coarse, and more fun than most.

The cooks had wrapped the pastries in a white cloth and given me instructions on how to best carry them without spilling or crushing the tarts. The pitcher of milk was carried in my other hand. Inside the laundry room, the three women were near an open window where a breeze stirred the curtains. They turned at my entrance. Two smiled openly. One scowled, but she always did.

“Ladies.” My greeting encompassed them all while taking note of the scowl on the one face for future consideration.

“Damon, you haven’t been here to tell lies with us for ten days or more,” one said with a wide smile. “We’ve missed you. Have you gotten into trouble again with your princess and need a place to hide out?”

“No.” My grin widened. “But guess what came my way?” I placed the milk on the table and whisked the white cloth off the tarts as if a mage was making them appear from nothing.

The third maid, the one who scowled at me when entering said in a sour tone, “Eight? How do you suggest we evenly split them between the three of us?”

“Easy,” I laughed, ignoring her snide attitude, and again decided to follow up as to why she acted so rude. Even for her, the attitude was sour. “Two for each of you and two for me. I wished to share my good fortune with you, but if you insist, I’ll eat them all.”

Mugs appeared from somewhere, milk was poured, and the tarts were divided. The third woman still eyed me suspiciously. We joked us, recalled old rumors about royal families, and repeated a few harmless, but juicy stories without asking for anything in return.

The thing is, a question asked is almost as revealing as the answer. The laundry maids, or at least one of them, would then repeat the question to another gossip, who would pass the information on again, and again. Soon, the entire palace would know what I wished to know, and they all knew of my relationship with Elizabeth. My interest would quickly raise other inquiries, and every gossip, guttersnipe, and chinwag would wonder why my interest was in those people who had recently departed the palace.

I had observed on my way to the laundry room the small placards placed on the latches of the doors by the maids. Nearly half the rooms and suites were empty, cleaned, and ready for occupancy. At this time of the year, there were no parties or balls. Priests were off converting or preaching, officers directing wars, and merchants hunting for new buyers.

The warm breeze still flowed into the room from the open window, the tarts and milk were treats the maids tasted once or twice a year. We gobbled them down amid laughter and small talk. Finally, I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, a disgusting habit that told the servants I was one of them. Steering the conversation without asking a question is an art. “With all the empty rooms, it figures you’d all be sitting around here getting fat with nothing to do, so my good fortune with the tarts made me decided to contribute to your cause.”

They laughed and cackled together as only old women do. One said, “You can come by and bring milk and fruit tarts with you anytime.”

Another said, “With only nine rooms to clean, we have only three each. I could have bribed either of these two wenches to clean my three with just one of your tarts.”

Only nine rooms. Eight, if you subtract the one for the one mage called Twin, who still remained in the palace. Who else was gone? A stroll down the hall could eliminate a few because I knew the occupants. There was an apartment where a tall, cadaverous priest lived, and another where a bald sorceress lived who couldn’t seem to conjure up a spell to grow her hair again. She wore poorly made wigs and occupied a room at the very end of the hall, as she had for years, rarely leaving. That left only six rooms and the three mages we wanted to know about. Still, I wouldn’t and couldn’t dare mention the word, mage.

“Is that normal?” I asked peering out the window at nothing, as if not caring to hear the answer or not.

“No,” the first one said. “At this time of the year, we usually have five or six rooms for each of us to clean, which is still our slow time. When the mages return, we’ll be almost back to normal.”

There. What I needed had just fallen into my lap. Waiting had paid off. She said if the mages returned. That told me they were not here, verifying Elizabeth’s hunch. They were elsewhere. Probably in Mercia. However, confirmation of the meager information was what Elizabeth wanted, and the last thing I wished for was that third woman, the silent one who often scowled at me, to figure out where my interest lay. Without a doubt, she would run to tell of my interest, and a new rumor would take hold. Worse, Elizabeth would hear it and scold me for being careless. She used to do that a lot, and now had either learned to hold her tongue at my numerous failures, or I was becoming more skillful in my deceptions.

With the milk and fruit tarts gone, the mood in the room had improved, and I hadn’t asked for anything in return. By my way of calculating, the three women now owed me some future small favor. Yes, they had given me what I’d come for, but that was aside from the point because they didn’t know it.

“Ladies, it’s time for me to run. Next time my desperate need for good conversation strikes, or there are tarts in my hands, I’ll be back.”