“Nothing else?” he pressed when Martok did not enlarge on this.
“No, father. Mostly we just played games.”
“What kind of games?”
He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. After a pause, he said: “I…I can’t remember now. Just games. And when we'd finished, we sat and talked for a while. You know, like mother and I used to do right before bed time.”
Ralmar nodded. “I remember that very well. She used to say it was her favorite part of the day.”
Martok's young face took on an unusually serious and mature appearance. “I won’t ask you about how she died any more, I promise. Heather said you would tell me when you're ready to. But I wish…”
“What do you wish?”
“I wish you weren’t so sad all the time.”
Ralmar stroked his son’s hair. “I know it troubles you to see me like that. And I promise to try harder to get over it.”
“Heather told me why it bothers you so much. It’s that mother didn’t go to live with her and all the others when she died. But Heather said I shouldn't worry because wherever mother is, she’s sure to be happy and safe. And I believe her.”
Ralmar suppressed a tear. “If you do, then so do I.”
He lifted Martok onto his shoulders. “Since we've already seen a dragon, what would you like to do now? We can go anywhere you like.”
Martok thought on this for a moment. The answer then became very clear. “Home. Let’s just go home.”
“Good choice,” his father told him. “And when we get there, we can start to give the house a new life again.”
Sylas looked across the pavilion at Martok with clear disapproval. The boy was sitting alone at a small table fidgeting with a brass top his father had given to him on the day he'd departed.
“A strange child,” remarked Evelyn Bronstar. “Why does he not join in with the other children?” Her silver hair was styled in a perfect bun and adorned with the same tiny gem stones that were stitched into her stylish blue gown. She was a woman of true wealth and status, and made certain that everyone knew it.
“There are few children his age at Dragonvein Manor,” Sylas explained. “Only a few servants and farmers really. He spends most of his time in study.”
“A pity. Children should be allowed to enjoy their youth. And he’s such a handsome boy. His face is so mature to be…how old?”
“Twelve,” Sylas informed her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Truly? And has his father found a suitable match for him?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, of course. It slipped my mind. He’s living amongst the dragons, isn't he?”
Sylas knew very well that it had not slipped her mind at all. And both her tone and expression did little to disguise her disapproval. “Ralmar feels that, given our family history, it is important to understand them,” he explained.
“Yes. Everyone knows about the fabled bond that the Dragonvein family shares with those creatures. Frightful beasts. For the life of me, I have never understood the appeal. However do you live with it?”
Sylas suppressed his anger and dislike for the woman. “Quite easily. My connection is very weak compared to my brother’s. But I can assure you there is nothing unpleasant about it. Dragons are actually quite intelligent and remarkable animals.”
“But they
are
animals,” she pointed out. “It makes one wonder if such influences could affect behavior. Young Martok's, for instance. Just look at how sullen he is. You cannot honestly tell me that having the voice of wild beasts rattling around in his head doesn’t contribute a great deal to his isolation.”
“Martok just misses his father, that's all,” Sylas replied. By now he was at the very edge of his tolerance for this woman’s thinly veiled insults. At the same time, considering the current lowly status of the Dragonvein family – made far worse by Ralmar’s decision to go live with the dragons – he knew it would be a terrible mistake to alienate her. They needed allies. Without them, they could easily find themselves falling prey to the more powerful houses and be stripped of lands and position entirely.
“And how goes his magical studies?” Lady Bronstar pressed on. “I do hope he has more talent than his poor father.”
“He is actually one of the best students I have ever seen. He has already mastered spells that many adult mages would find difficult.”
Her elegant hand demurely covered her mouth as she tittered a laugh. “How very generous of you to say so, Sylas. But as his uncle, I suppose you must. You should see my grandson, Desmond. He is really quite genuinely talented.”
She paused, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to her. With a small gasp, her heavily bejeweled fingers reached out to touch his chest. “You know, you should come to my estate and spend some time instructing Desmond yourself. Everyone knows how powerful the great Sylas Dragonvein is. So unlike your brother. It would be such a privilege for the boy to learn from a true master.”
Sylas sighed inwardly, knowing that she had at last come to the point of the entire conversation. It was true that, although his family was now of low status, he was personally still regarded as being one of the most powerful mages in Lumnia. What was not so commonly known was that, in truth, Ralmar was equally powerful. It was his brother's constant travelling and odd behavior, together with his preference to shun using magic at every public opportunity in the same way most mages did, that made people wrongly believe him to be weak.
“While his father is away, I am responsible for Martok’s education,” he explained. “So while I am greatly honored by your suggestion, I’m afraid –”
“Nonsense,” she said, imperiously brushing aside his refusal. “You would bring the boy along with you. It would do him good to be away from that dreary manor. He needs playmates, and there are plenty of other children for him there. Children of breeding and class. I’m sure it would be a positive experience for you both.”
Sylas knew this was an offer he should not, and likely
could
not, refuse. “I will give the matter consideration,” he said.
The expression on her face stated plainly that she had already taken this as a yes. “Excellent. Now do me a favor and have young Martok join the others in the east garden. I just can’t bear to see him looking so unhappy.”
“I would be glad to,” he said, knowing this at least gave him the excuse he needed to escape the wretched hag's company. After bowing politely, he started over to where Martok was sitting.
The boy smiled as he saw his uncle approaching and put the top away in his pocket. But the stern look on Sylas’ face was enough to warn him that this was not going to be a pleasant talk.
“You should go play with the other children in the garden,” Sylas told him. “It’s not good to spend all of your time alone.”
“I don’t, uncle. I spend it with you.”
Sylas took a seat across from him. “I’m an adult, Martok. You need to be around children your own age sometimes.”
Martok frowned. “I don’t like children my own age. Especially the ones here. All they ever do is talk about how rich their families are. And they say nasty things behind one another’s back. Even if they’re supposed to be friends.”
Sylas sucked in a long breath. “Yes. I know. I don’t like them either. But we need them. So you must try to
pretend
to like them. And you never know, perhaps you'll find they're not all as bad as you think.”
“Why do we need them? What do they ever do but make fun of us?”
“They simply don’t understand our ways, that's all. Children often make fun of what they don’t understand. You just have to ignore it.”
“But the adults do it as well. I hear them all the time. They say my father is mad. That he has become as wild as the dragons.”
“Which is why we must find allies,” Sylas told him. “And that's very difficult to do when you're all alone, sulking in a corner. You think people don’t notice?”
“What do I care?” His eyes burned with defiance. “They can’t hurt us.”
“Yes they can, boy,” he shot back. “Don’t you see that? I am the only thing standing between our enemies and our family’s demise. But I can’t hold them at bay forever. To carry on, we
must
gain strength by making friends among the great houses. Do you understand?”
Martok became silent for a long moment. Gradually, the defiance on his face melted into acceptance of his uncle’s authority. “I understand, uncle,” he finally said. “I’ll go play with the others if that's what you really want.”
“I do.”
The boy rose and bowed politely.
Sylas watched him as he walked unhappily away. It was at times like this that he was truly furious with Ralmar. All of this nonsense about strengthening the family bond with the dragons had made their house virtual outcasts. What good would it do? Dragons were wild beasts. And even though he hated to admit it, that bitch Evelyn Bronstar wasn’t entirely wrong. It
was
a burden. Even now he could feel those bloody creatures invading his thoughts.
He had heard that once, long ago, dragons had been the reason for the Dragonvein's rise to prominence and power. But they were just stories. Sadly, Ralmar believed them to be true. And worse still, he had convinced his son of this as well. That was going to make it very difficult to find Martok a wife who could increase their family's security. Very difficult indeed.
* * * * *
Martok was in no hurry to join the other children. Because of this, he delayed matters by stopping several times, pretending to admire the various sculptures and fountains scattered freely about the massive estate. Outwardly, it would seem as if he was a cultured young man. At least it would please his uncle to have people see him in this way rather than as an oddity.
The Prustoni family had only invited them both here to this gathering as a matter of etiquette - a fact of which his uncle was well aware. It was true the Dragonvein’s no longer possessed the wealth and influence to match many of the other mage houses, but they were still by far one of the most ancient families in Lumnia. That alone made it virtually impossible not to invite them. What had surprised Martok was that his uncle had accepted.
The east garden was extensive almost beyond belief. A person could spend days walking along its polished stone paths and still not see everything contained within. Just the yearly amount spent by the Prustoni’s on its upkeep was more than the total wealth his own family possessed. Not that the Dragonvein’s were exactly poor, even now. They did still hold a substantial amount of rich farmland, and three copper mines, which was more than enough to ensure that they never went hungry.
It was rumored that Kytain Prustoni was actually planning to anoint himself as king: an act that would be far outside established mage tradition. A monarch's function was mostly to keep the peace with the elves and dwarves. That, and to carry out the will of the mage houses in a manner that shielded the instigators should the measures be unpopular. The mundane task of governing was not a thing on which a mage would ever normally deign to spend time.
But as well as being a powerful mage, Kytain was also a highly ambitious man. And his notions of what a mage should be were so far reaching as to be unsettling for most. Not that anyone dared to say so openly. The wrath of such a wealthy house could be terrible indeed.
Martok, however, was not afraid. Not even of Kytain Prustoni. He refused to share his uncle's opinion that they needed to grovel before the other houses for protection. If they thought they could oust him from his home…let them come. He would send them to the depths wrapped in a ball of fire. Each and every one of them.
He continued wandering about, but after nearly half an hour had still not caught sight of the other children. He wasn’t lying about not liking them. Particularly Desmond Bronstar. He had noticed Sylas speaking with the boy's grandmother earlier, which meant in all likelihood he would soon be forced to spend a few months pretending not to know as much as he did about magic so as not to crush the ego of the little brat.
Lady Bronstar had been pestering his uncle for two years now, trying her best to get him to teach Desmond. And now it looked like she might have succeeded. Not that this was the full extent of the woman's scheming. She had a daughter whose husband had passed on a few years back, and everyone knew she considered Sylas to be a good match for her. The Dragonvein family may not have the status of many others, but Sylas was undoubtedly one of the most powerful mages in Lumnia. That alone made him highly desirable.
Martok’s spirits began to lift as it became increasingly evident he would not be able to locate the other children. At least he could tell his uncle he had tried without lying. He found a comfortable bench under a white pavilion and resolved to wait it out there. He would be expected back before sundown, and it was already well past midday.
He closed his eyes and allowed the voices of the dragons to wash over him. As much as he missed his father, he knew that he had made the right choice in going to live among them. Even though his uncle refused to accept it, the Dragonvein family's rise to prominence really had been because of their bond. Back in that time there had been constant wars, not only with the dwarves and elves, but between other human nations too. Now though, with mages firmly in control of all Lumnia, the time had passed when any kind of link to the dragons was seen as being beneficial. Though there were still minor squabbles, all-out war was abolished. These days, the only danger to the mages was from each other.
The scream of a young girl snapped Martok out of his thoughts. Springing to his feet, he moved quickly out of the pavilion.
“Leave me alone!” the voice continued.
It was coming from beyond a nearby hedge. Martok burst into a dead run. He rushed through an open gate and on into a large meadow with a small pond in the center. There he saw four boys surrounding a young girl lying on the ground. Each were taking turns at shooting tiny bolts of lightning into her. Martok knew it was not sufficient to do any permanent harm, but certainly enough to sting terribly.
He recognized the eldest boy instantly...Desmond Bronstar. His wavy black hair that was normally tied into a short ponytail was flailing wildly as he laughed at his victim. The other three boys were obviously following his lead, though they all had the look of being cruel brats in their own right.
“I think she's going to cry,” Desmond taunted. He let loose another bolt, striking her on the calf.
The girl let out a yelp of pain. “Stop it…or I’ll…”
Desmond sniffed. “You’ll what? Tell your mother? I don't care. I’ll just deny it. You think anyone would believe you?”
His words prompted a round of mocking laughter from the other three boys.
Martok took a moment to gauge the situation. Though he recognized Desmond, the rest were unfamiliar. The spells they were casting at present were reasonably harmless. But things might easily get out of hand if they moved on to more damaging magic.