LeRoy Clary
The Last Dragon: Book One
CHAPTER ONE
The sharp nudge of my sister’s elbow to my ribs drew my attention. She was standing alert at my side, while Princess Elizabeth lay on a sofa in the shade of the camellia garden. The princess had raised an index finger slightly without turning to look my way. I’d missed her signal. Quickly and smoothly, I approached from behind and held my tray of sweets near her impatiently outstretched hand. She selected a tiny cake coated with powdered sugar without looking. I stepped back, ready to move closer again if she indicated she wanted another.
“Daydreaming, Damon?” My sister Kendra mouthed silently, scolding me.
I nodded, just the barest of moves with my chin. My full attention was again focused on Princess Elizabeth and her needs, as it should be.
Kendra clutched the carafe of wine tightly to her chest, ready to pour again at a moment’s notice, a combination of water, and red and white wine that Lady Elizabeth was partial to. The red wine gave it a pleasing body and color, the white sweetness, and the ample amount of pure water prevented the alcohol from speaking for her. However, I silently worried about the Lady Elizabeth’s penchant for sweets, although they had not yet swelled her hips. She lay on the sofa, slim, white skin and dress, and seductive in her pretended innocence.
Across from her, sunning himself in the royal garden, sat Lord Kent, a simpering boy of middle teens already intending to conquer the green world, the only civilized portion. The brown and tan worlds to the south needed no conquering, because who would want to live in them? The white world to the north was too cold to care about. They were all empty wastelands, endless expanses of nothingness with only a few pathetic hermits, so they say. Personally, I find it hard to believe anyone, even a hermit, would voluntarily exist in any of them.
Lord Kent squinted from the bright sunlight in the garden while speaking in his pompous, yet squeaky voice that continued to drone on and on. I resumed listening to the braggart’s ramblings as he said, “Of course to accomplish all that, there will be the need for me to command the best generals in the whole kingdom, those with the sharpest military minds. That will be my first task. Identify, train, and test them until I’m certain only the best surround me. Then my generals, with my direct supervision, of course, will train their armies to my satisfaction.”
“Interesting,” Elizabeth responded, sounding to me as if she was anything but interested.
“That’s not all,” Lord Kent continued eagerly as he leaned forward in his quest to impress her.
Elizabeth’s thumb, which was hidden from Lord Kent’s sight behind her hip, turned slightly downward. It indicated she was finished listening to the whimpers, baseless brags, and endless talk of the young fool. The downturned thumb was another signal. It was now my task to make the lord wish to leave the garden.
Young Lord Kent’s incessant boasts and youthful pride were the keys to his defeat and therefore what I’d use to tame him. Using my small magic powers, I mentally drew a tiny amount of moisture from nearby, mostly from the beads of sweat on the outside of the carafe of wine in Kendra’s hands. My magic then vaporized it. I reformed the water on the material at Lord Kent’s groin, in a circle no larger than a Corinthian Penny. As it appeared and spread, the pale blue material turned shades darker. A twinge of my mental energy informed him of the spreading wetness.
His eyes flashed from Elizabeth to the darkening circle on the rich material in near panic. He instantly leaped to his feet and turned a hip away before the princess could notice his disgrace. “I have to take my leave, Princess. I’ve forgotten an important task I must attend to right away.”
“So soon?” Elizabeth asked in a most disappointed-sounding voice. “Perhaps we can do this again.”
“Yes, I’ll have my manservant contact your handmaiden and make an appointment.”
“Yes, please do that.” Her tone indicated eagerness, but her eyes rolled as she relaxed after he hastily departed the garden.
When the young Lord Kent was out of sight and earshot, and only Kendra and I remained with her, Elizabeth said gently to me, “Really? You could have just made him itch or do something else that wouldn’t make me laugh out loud and embarrass the poor boy. He will someday grow up to be an important man, and we wouldn’t wish to make an enemy of him.”
“You noticed the wet spot?” My voice came out steady and recalcitrant, as intended. “I am sorry and will refrain from such poor attempts at humor in the future.”
She cast me a glare that faded into a sly grin. Her eyes moved to Kendra, “Control your brother. Please.”
Kendra shot me a look.
I grinned back. It’s the trivial things in life that really count, and Elizabeth always reminded us of that. The petty things that can change or sway a conversation or negotiation often determine the outcome. They say the king’s own mage can change the world with a single wave of his powerful hand and a few muttered words. That’s a feat hard to believe, but what do I know?
No, on second thought, there is something I know that few others are aware of. I know how to perform magic, too, in my own small manner. It’s not the intense, flashy sort of magic that mages or sorceresses perform in front of enormous crowds at coronations or royal celebrations. For me, there are no fierce sparkles, blinding flashes of blue-white light, or roars of thunder. Mine is soft, subtle and unnoticed, even to others present who possess the powers to detect magic.
At times, I perform my simple tricks in the very presence of powerful mages. None have ever been aware of them or caught me. Those actions, flood me with the secret power of a kind no others suspect, which makes my magic more potent in some ways than theirs. For instance, a few drops of ordinary water placed in the right location can make a young man flee from a beautiful young woman.
Besides, who would ever think to look to a lowly servant as an operative or a cause for magic? The very idea makes me grin.
Elizabeth, who is my owner and master, is the third daughter of a second son. What that means in practical terms, is that while unlikely, her father may one day rule our land, but she will never do so. Above her in the line of succession are two brothers and a pair of older sisters. The future sons of her siblings will push her position lower and lower as they assume rank above her, by virtue of their birth.
The Lady Elizabeth stood and swept invisible crumbs from her crisp white linen skirt. She turned back to me with her smile intact. “Follow him. See what he’s up to.”
Lord Kent had entered the main wing of the palace by the garden doorway, and I quickly moved after him. His apartment was on the second floor of the south-wing, near the old kitchen. It was an excellent location for an apartment and only a few steps from a kitchen that others in the palace envy. Many of us remember the kindly elderly royal couple that had lived in that same apartment until Lord Kent ordered them relocated so the apartment could become his, after a proper remodel of the interior, of course. The remodel had taken months and months, although I’d never seen it for myself, rumor said it was as opulent as any in Crestfallen.
A young boy like Lord Kent needs to eat at least six full meals a day, and there is a kitchen nearby. Some said that was an excuse for him seizing the apartment. Others say an independent royal son needed distance from his immediate family now that he caught the eyes of certain young women. However, most saw it as abuse by a selfish boy with too much power and idle time on his hands.