Red Dragon's Keep (The Dragon's Children Book 1) Read online

  “Thomas, focus,” Aeden corrected him sharply. She brought her sword into the next position, waiting for Thomas to bring his sword up and across. Fortunately for his peace of mind, there were no other trainees present who might note his awkward progress. Dust stirred up by his movements across the wooden planks covering the sand-filled pit in the center of the salle floated in the streams of sunlight falling through the clerestory windows. Huge mirrors, used to check body alignment and position in the exercises, were mounted on the west wall.

  Thomas completed the set of eight moves that he had been taught as Aeden flowed in the corresponding pattern. By the end of the set, his wrists, arms and hands felt as weak as wet noodles. He’d been working on this exercise for over an hour. Aeden neatly twisted the sword from his hand.

  “Move your feet in the correct pattern as well,” said Aeden sternly.

  She sheathed her sword.

  “Come; let’s set you at the pells today to bring the patterns together.”

  Gratefully, Thomas picked up and sheathed his sword, shaking out his wrists. He walked with her to the door on the west wall next to the mirrors. They stepped out of the salle into a brisk bright afternoon. They followed the stone walk from the salle to the outdoor arena set between the stables and storage buildings. All of the officers, squires and men-at-arms practiced individual and group movements there. At the end of the arena, four head-high thick posts, called pells, had been buried in the earth as deep as they were tall.

  “Now, use the pattern against the pell. As you hit it, shift your weight and return with the opposite strike.” Aeden folded her arms across her chest and stood back to watch.

  Thomas took his place in front of the pell and readied his arms, extending his practice sword down and away from his body. He brought it up and hit the pell at throat height. The sword bounced off the pell and he moved with its trajectory and brought it around to hit the other side. His hands and arms moved in the pattern and his feet followed. Sweat covered him from head to toe as he spun and hit again and again. He grinned maniacally. On his last strike, the sword hit at the wrong angle and bounced back against his thigh. He shook his head in resignation.

  “Again,” Aeden commanded.

  After two more repetitions, his movements had slowed to a snail’s pace, but every blow was accurate. He came to the end of the pattern and raised his sword in triumph.

  “Ha. I did it,” he exclaimed.

  Lady Aeden smiled. “Of course you did. You've been training hard. A little more time on the pells and you can start sparring with the other squires. You’re doing very well. Have you been practicing with Maccon and Stefan?”

  “I have, my Lady. We've become good friends since Garan left.” He frowned. “It’s funny. As soon as he left, almost everyone else started treating me like a person.” Thomas sheathed his practice sword in its scabbard hanging at his left hip. He wiped his sweating face with the bottom of his shirt as he and Aeden walked toward the trough of water at the side of the arena. He dunked his head completely in the trough and swung up quickly, water arching as he shook his head. The cool water felt good.

  Lady Aeden chuckled. “Garan was a troublemaker, that’s for sure. Time for your lessons with Captain Mathin. How are they progressing?” she asked.

  “They’re going well, I think.” Thomas wiped the water off of his face with his hands. “We're covering the last Demon war - what worked and didn't work for the allies. It's fascinating. The Ciardha Demons tried again and again to seize the initiative and never could. We can't figure out why, but I have a feeling that is the most important point.” Thomas frowned in thought. “Have you heard anything that might bear on it?”

  “No, but I'll ask around and look into it. Perhaps others will know,” Aeden answered. They stopped at the door to the salle.

  “Lady Aeden, I promised my brother that I would ask if he could start training, too. He's been nagging at me to ask you since Father left. He may be small for his age, but he should know how to fight just like I need to know. He’s growing really fast. Could he maybe attend training classes for the youngest squires?”

  Lady Aeden crossed her arms, a frown lowering her brows. “Let me talk with Captain Mathin and Gregory. I agree that he should be trained, and perhaps Breanna as well, at least in knife work. It's a good thought, Thomas. Go on.” She smiled and waved toward the tower. “Captain Mathin is waiting.”

  With a broad grin and a flip of his wet blond hair out of his eyes, Thomas took off at a jog for his next lessons.

  § § §

  “Captain Mathin, I don’t understand why the King’s council refused to spend the money for more soldiers. It only makes sense to be prepared for whatever might happen.”

  Thomas shook his head, bewildered by what he had read in the records of the kingdom and Red Dragon’s Keep. “The town councils don’t want to pay for more soldiers, just like the king’s council. I understand it takes money from everyone, but we need more soldiers now,” he exclaimed. “War is coming and we need to get ready.”

  He and Captain Mathin waited for Gregory in the Duke’s Library. Thomas met with them there each day for his lessons on tactics and strategy.

  The Library was located in the southwest tower of the Tower, catching both morning and afternoon light from the windows around the room. It took up the entire fourth floor. Permanent records of the Keep and surrounding lands were kept there as well as the extremely rare and valuable books that the Arach family had collected for generations. Thomas and his siblings, as well as other highborn trainees, were given lessons in this room.

  Tall broad windows facing south allowed in as much light as possible. Heavy thick wooden shutters were folded back against the walls on either side of the windows, ready to bar the openings in case of attack.

  Bookshelves lined the room on three sides. Captain Mathin leaned against one of them, his arms folded across his chest. He tilted his head to the side in interest. “Where did you hear that?”

  Thomas knew that he had surprised Captain Mathin more than once with information he had gleaned from listening around the Keep and village and especially from his time spent listening in the secret passageways.

  He looked everywhere but at the captain. Thomas didn’t want to tell him about the corridor behind the great hall. He hung his head and replied, “I’ve listened to you and Father and Gregory discussing strategy and tactics after dinner. I’ve paid attention to the soldiers whenever I’m down in the village. I know I was supposed to be doing other things but I couldn’t help myself.”

  “So how do you think we can convince the town councils that we need more soldiers?”

  Thomas leaned his elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand. “What if we sent out the news from the dispatches we’ve received with the town criers to every village in the duchy?” Thomas spoke hesitantly.

  “Do you think that might make the villagers panic?”

  Thomas frowned. He could see the solution but didn’t know how to say it. He tried anyway. “If everyone knows what’s happening, maybe we can get them to help us. Nobody out there knows the truth, because we don’t tell them. They already know something’s wrong, and I’ve heard the wildest rumors down in town. This will give them information instead of rumors. Those on the village and town councils will hear the news and maybe recognize that we all better get ready.”

  Captain Mathin stroked his beard as he gazed out the windows as if weighing Thomas’s idea. “It just might work,” he murmured, almost to himself. They turned toward the door as it opened to reveal the seneschal.

  “Gregory, Thomas has a good idea. What do you think about this?”

  Chapter 6

  “Thomas, pick a quarterstaff that’s as tall as you are. Yes, that’s the right size. Stefan, Maccon, you do the same.”

  It was cool in the salle. Thomas pulled a quarterstaff from its rack next to the training floor, grounded its butt and ran his hand up the polished wood, just to feel its satin smoothn
ess.

  The instructor for the training class was an older man, hunch-backed, with a mane of white hair floating wildly around his head. His white mustache blended into his beard that ended at mid-belly. He leaned heavily on a quarterstaff that was a third again taller than he was. He had been training squires for Duke Arach for many, many years. He walked with a heavy limp. His leg had been sliced with a pike and had healed badly.

  “Take your places on the floor,” he said quietly.

  The three squires lined up at the center of the floor.

  “Stefan and Thomas, pair off. Maccon, you and I will practice together.”

  Stefan and Thomas took their positions facing each other, quarterstaffs held horizontally at waist height, hands shoulder-width apart. Stefan lashed out towards Thomas with the left butt of his staff. Thomas blocked the blow and followed through with a strike towards Stefan’s stomach. Stefan sprang back and brought his staff down towards Thomas’s leg. He caught him behind the knee and jerked forward, tumbling Thomas to the ground.

  “Ha,” shouted Thomas as he fell. “Good one, Stefan.” He jumped back to his feet.

  The old man stood waiting for Maccon to strike. Hesitantly, Maccon brought his staff up towards the outside edge of the weapons-master’s staff. With a blur, the old man swung his staff around his head and straight toward Maccon. With a shout of fear, Maccon ducked and instinctively threw up his staff. The old man’s move knocked the staff from Maccon’s hands. The old man reversed his staff and thrust again toward Maccon, the butt of his staff stopping an inch from Maccon’s forehead.

  “That won’t do, Maccon. Again.”

  Maccon retrieved his staff with a shake of his head. “I’ll never get this, Master,” he groaned.

  The old man chuckled. “Yes, you will. I assure you that you will learn. We will take each position slowly until you have the pattern down precisely.”

  As soon as Maccon returned to his starting position, the old man moved with him through the pattern, again and again and again. By the eighth repetition, Maccon was exhausted, but he knew the pattern.

  “Rest,” said the old man. He turned and regarded Stefan and Thomas.

  Those two had been steadily working through the forms. The padded ends of the training quarterstaffs provided at least some protection from broken bones, bruises, and even killing strokes. Thomas had a black eye from not moving fast enough to block a blow to his face. Stefan limped badly on a bruised leg from a sweep by Thomas.

  “Rest,” the old man told them.

  Quarterstaff butts thudded against the floor and the squires leaned on them gratefully.

  “You’ve done well. Return the equipment to its place and go to your next lessons,” the old man dismissed them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Those were some good moves, Stefan,” Thomas said as the three boys walked to the weapons rack. “Where did you learn them?”

  Stefan huffed a short laugh. “I’ve been training with staffs since I was little, Lord Thomas. My father said I’d better know how because we didn’t have enough money to train me with swords or other weapons. We didn’t even have money for leather armor.”

  Thomas looked at him with new respect. “For not having any other training, you’re doing really well, then,” he said. “How did you become a squire?” He sneezed violently from the dust in the air raised by their practice.

  “Your father knew mine from the last war. When he found out that my father had a son of an age to become a squire, he sent for me. You should have seen my father. He was shocked, and then so proud. My mother started to cry. It was good, and bad. Made me feel happy and sad at the same time.”

  “I know what you mean. I felt the same way when Father and Mother left,” Thomas told him. “What about you, Maccon? What’s your story?”

  “The town where I grew up sponsored me to your father,” Maccon replied. “I’ve always been good with weapons and horses. There hasn’t been anyone else sent as a squire for a very long time. When your father accepted me, the whole town was thrilled. The mayor and council came to see me accepted,” he said proudly.

  “That’s really excellent,” Thomas responded with a punch to Maccon’s shoulder. “Let’s go get mid-meal. I want to hear more. I’ll sit with you. Come on.” Thomas took off running.

  The two boys looked at each other, then took off with a whoop of laughter, chasing him.

  Chapter 7

  Jalyn shook her head as she kneaded the bread dough. Push, fold. Push, fold. The rhythmic movement soothed her mind. The kitchen was sweltering with the heat of the hearth where all of the cooking for the tower was done. Nothing was proceeding as it should. There was definitely something blocking her attempts to manipulate that brat, Thomas. She had worked at Red Dragon’s Keep for a very long time, waiting for just such opportunities as she’d had in the past months. Even the spells worked against some of the squires seemed to have failed.

  She wiped the back of her hand across her sweating forehead. Her gray hair was drawn back into an unattractive bun and dirty tendrils fell down across her forehead. Small, dark brown eyes glared out of an obese face. The fat on the back of her arms jiggled as she moved. She liked to eat.

  She hated the Arachs with every fiber of her being. Before the Duke had been confirmed as the holder of Red Dragon’s Keep, she’d been the chatelaine and ruled with an iron hand. No one was allowed to shirk under her purview. She’d thought that the Duke’s father might have married her after his first wife died.

  Now she was the cook. How she wanted to get back at the ones who had taken her former life from her. She briskly shaped the dough and folded it into its pans. She walked to the bread oven, clumsily skirting the table where apprentices chopped and sliced the meat and vegetables for dinner, ramming her hip into the corner. She slid the pans into the oven and lifted the slate cover over the opening.

  Jalyn walked back toward the hearth, stopping to taste the stew that simmered in the pot hung over the kitchen fire. She’d prepared a special dinner for the high table. Looking around to check if anyone was watching, she slipped a small glass vial from the side pocket in her voluminous skirt, unstoppered it and poured the contents into the stew. That should send those who thought themselves above her scurrying for the toilet. Maybe it would be enough to kill.

  This was the tenth time she had used poison to try to kill the Arachs. None of them had worked. The idiots had complained of odd tastes, but that was all. She could not understand why the poisons hadn’t done the job. The Arachs all deserved to die. I’ll just keep trying until something works.

  Her face contorted in a satisfied sneer, she moved back to the dessert table to check her underling’s efforts.

  She inspected the pastry and peaches, turned and slapped the girl, Clara, across the face. “You’ve done it again. Burned the crust and put too many peaches in the pie. Do it again,” she demanded.

  Tears leaked from the pastry cooks eyes. She did not cry out loud. Those who cried were beaten. She bent to start the dessert again.

  Jalyn picked up the pie and carried it to the table set at the head of the room, comfortably close to the fire. She took her seat and began to eat.

  Chapter 8

  “Thomas, you're ready to choose a sword of your own, one that you can work with until it feels like an extension of your arm,” Lady Aeden said as she walked across the salle floor toward him and his partner.

  Thomas’s practice sword fell away from the guard position as his concentration was broken by Aeden’s comment. His sparring partner, Calen, took advantage of his lapse in attention to whack him in the ribs with what felt like the edge of his blade.

  “Ow!” Thomas exclaimed. It wasn’t the first time that Calen had gotten through his guard and left bruises on his body. He and some of the other squires liked to swagger around the Keep, baiting the girls, kicking the skullies, arrogantly certain that nothing and no one would stop them as long as they didn’t act in front of their elders. Garan had been part of th
at faction.

  Maybe Calen and the other squires really are trying to hurt me. He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. He sheathed his wooden sword.

  Lady Aeden laughed. “That's what you get for losing your concentration. Come on. Let's get to the armory. Calen, take Simon as partner.”

  She and Thomas shared a companionable silence as they walked across the salle, through the doors, turned left and followed the hallway to the older part of the weapons training center. It had been five weeks since he’d started his training. He’d only been allowed as far as the guard’s maintenance room where weapons were sharpened, oiled and wooden parts repaired or replaced. Chain-mail links were placed or replaced on leather armor in that room.

  A guard sat at a table next to the weapons room double doors, reading records and making notations on them. They stopped in front of the table and Lady Aeden touched her hand to her temple in a casual salute. Another guard stationed in front of the doors came to attention.

  “We're here to choose a weapon for Lord Thomas,” she told him.

  “Yes, my Lady, my Lord,” the guard at the table responded, jumping to his feet and giving a short bow.

  The guard in front of the doors gave a respectful nod and stepped to the side. Aeden pulled the right-hand door of the room open. She motioned for Thomas to enter first and stepped in behind him. Pulling the door closed, she called mage light to her hand and flicked her wrist, setting it to float above them.

  “Try to do the same, Lord Thomas.” She gestured at her light. “It's good practice.”

  Thomas glanced at her, then held out his hand, centered his ki and concentrated his will on creating light. Magelight danced above his fingertips. He moved his hand upward as if tossing a ball and the light soared to the ceiling.