The Dragon Master's Son 8 & 9

Chapter 8

“Get up,” the nearer of the two guards gently demanded. “His Highness wants to see you.”

John lay, frozen ridged from his flight, on the floor of his cell. Not a single muscle in his body worked, or joint moved. He was literally frozen solid.

“Get up,” the guard demanded, more piqued this time. With John still motionless on the floor, he unlocked the gate of the cell and gave the boy's buttock a sharp kick. Though he knew he'd been struck, John couldn't feel a single sensation in his body. The guard crouched down and grabbed the boy by the jaw to shake him awake. He instantly recoiled.

“Burt, come in here,” the guard shouted. “He's frozen solid. I think he's dead.”

The second guard rushed into the cell and touched John on the forehead. “He'd better not be, Frank, or we'll be for it.”

The guards grabbed an arm each and dragged him, feet trailing, to the guards room. They lay him across two stools in front of the fire and stood, deep in conversation.

“But how'd he get so cold. The cells are warm.”

“Who cares? Start thinking about yourself. If he dies...”

The warmth of the fire was intoxicating. John fell into a sound sleep.

An hour later, John found himself in a large, airy room in one of the castle's towers. Through the windows, he had seen the night sky and the dark tops of the trees. Then the shutters had been closed to keep out the cold of the night. Now the room was illuminated by the great fire in the hearth and a succession of torches that were seated in sconces around the wall. John was fully defrosted and the heat of the cell-keepers broth was still warming his stomach.

Before him lay a large round table. The top of the table had been painted into a map. As John read the names on the map, images of the places came flooding into his mind. Harburn, Englestead, Claywood: these were places he knew. This was King Elfram's kingdom. John looked further out, towards the edge of the table. He saw names of places he had only heard of before: Bayton, Claredon, Hepplestone. Places his father had spoken of, when he had visited them as part of his work. John's eyes followed the Trond from his village, back through the Hineshire Plain, back to its birth in the Keyock mountains. Along the crest of the mountains ran the edge of King Elfram's lands. And there, along the border, were massed a number of model soldiers. The way the men grouped around the table spoke of them, each one of those model soldiers represented a whole army of real soldiers. John knew nothing of fighting or wars, but as he looked across the table, at the model soldiers massed on the border, he couldn't help but worry. If it had been one of the chess games he played on long nights against his father, he would have known that the end of the game was fast approaching and he was about to lose.

John had been deposited in the room by two guards some half hour before. Since then, he had been completely ignored. Without being told, he had remained in precisely the same spot for the entire time. John had taken the time to study the map and the manner of the men who stood around the table. He assumed they were knights, for they had bad tempers and loud voices. They spent most of their time arguing with one another. But there was one man nobody argued with, one man nobody raised their voice to. This man now broke away from the map table and approached John. The boy swiftly dropped onto one knee.

“My Liege.”

“Stand boy, please.” King Elfram beckoned John to rise. He did as he was commanded. As he stood upright, John came face to face for the first time in his life with his King.

The King had an aura about him. Not a halo like he'd seen in pictures on his rare trips to church. It was like an air of certainty. This man knew that when he spoke, people would listen. That when he raised his hand, talking would cease and if he nodded his head, things would be done. He also knew that if he shook his head, on those rare occasions, people would die.

“How are they treating you?”

John was just about to explain that his cell was fine, when the King caught sight of his black eye.

“How did you get that?” The King grabbed the boy's head and turned it, so the wound became more visible.

“An officer of your guard gave it to me,” John explained, “for looking too long at your daughter, Sire.”

The King smiled. “I don't suppose I can blame either of you for that misunderstanding. So, where has Crispan placed you?”

“In a very warm cell, Sire.”

A fleeting flash of anger crossed the Royal features. It reminded John of Princess Lujain. “Crispan is becoming very deaf in his old age,” the King growled. “I'm sorry that happened. You shan't be returning to a cell. I have too much respect for your father to do that.”

“You've seen my father?”

The King shook his head. “No. My soldiers were supposed to bring the two of you. I sensed you were vulnerable, ever since your mother disappeared. But I was too late.” The King turned angrily away. “And I could do with your father's help right now. The power of a dragon could awe our enemies. Halt their progress.”

The King looked with foreboding at the table in the middle of the room. John, not wishing to look at his King in such a vulnerable state, stared at his feet.

“Guards!”

Two guards instantly appeared at the Kings call. “I need a bed-chamber for the boy. Do we have one ready?”

“The blue room, Sire.”

“Good. Make sure he's comfortable.” The King turned to John. “We will speak again soon.”

And with those parting words, John was ushered from the tower room and taken to his new room in the castle.

Chapter 9

It wasn't hard to see why the guards had called it the Blue Room. The room was huge and dominated by an equally large bed. From each corner of the bed rose a sturdy, wooden column. The posts rose a good way towards the ceiling and down from each column cascaded a mass of dark blue fabric. The wood of the bed was painted a stark lapis lazuli, with accents of red. The chair, in the corner of the room, was painted in an identical manner, as were the shutters. Even by the light of the single candle, which sat guttering on the ledge in front of the shuttered window, the effect was overpowering. The effect was blue.

John's response to this overpowering room was simple. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. The hours since he'd woken that morning had been long. Now he was grateful to finally get some sleep. His mind was just drifting, when there was a knock at the door.

John lifted his sleep soaked head but failed in his attempt to sit up. The door swung gently open, creaking a little as it did, and into the room crept a girl. John was shocked by the transformation. It was Princess Lujain, clothed in a nightdress and carrying a candle. The sharp, geometric lines of her day clothes were gone, but she was no less beautiful for it. And the candle, held about chest height, lit her face in a most striking manner.

Using the whole of his reserves of strength, John pushed himself into a sitting position. Lujain approached and sat on the side of his bed. John's heart raced a little faster than he was used to.

“Your sleeping quarters seem to have improved since we last spoke,” she smiled. John marvelled at how straight her teeth were.

“Your father thought I should sleep here.”

“I know. I was the one who told him where you were. Otherwise, you would have slept this night in the dungeon.”

“This is far more comfortable. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Princess Lujain appeared as if she wished to add something else, but she shook her head and fell silent. With some effort she asked, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I really don't know,” John replied.

“Would you like to come for a ride?”

“I don't know how to ride a horse.”

The look of disgust was apparent. Haughty Princess Lujain was back. “Fine, I'll teach you.” She stood up briskly. “See you at breakfast in the morning.”

“Where do I get breakfast?”

“In the Great Hall.” She caught John vacant expression. “Just go down the stairs. It's hard to miss.”

She stood up and strode across the room. After a swift “Goodnight,” she departed, with a loud slam of the door.

John collapsed onto the bed and fell, with extreme ease, into a deep sleep.

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