Chapter 3--Ardvan

Ardvan

Ardvan stayed down on his knees and breathed deeply to calm himself. The early morning sun had clouded over and now he knelt shivering in the cold dirt of the King’s empty courtyard. He punched at the dirt in frustration. Once again he had failed to stand before his father and this time it had really mattered. He felt angry at his father but mostly he was angry with himself. He looked back across the muddy courtyard at the closed door of his father’s Great Lodge. It was an impressive building, not because of its size or architecture but because it was made of wood. It had a simple thatched roof and sat low to the ground nestled back against a tall cliff. His father constantly rejected the normal trappings of a king. Drakanvil had married Karis to unite himself to a family of noble heritage. However, his way of living was a continual reminder of his common birth. His actions constantly flouted tradition and left his wife, Karis, and four sons embarrassed at their fathers poor breeding. Everyone had stopped trying to change Drakinvil because it only made him angry and he was terrible enough without raising his ire. His simple wooden lodge stood now as a symbol of the safety he had brought this country. Before him no one could safely live in any structure that could easily burn. His father had beaten the dragons back and to assert this point he lived in a wooden lodge.

Ardvan looked up and saw his two men in dark leather suits waiting for him, Drako and Maddox. They leaned casually on their spears, staring down at him with mockery in their eyes. Ardvan could easily best both of them in a battle. He had trained with the best and he had a knack for fighting. But when it came to fighting dragons, they were his better. Both had gone through the trial of the Chosen and people consider them two of the best dragon slayers in the land. He glared hard at their barely hidden smirks as they watched him try to regain his composure. The dragon scent expressed by the king was so powerful that it had drifted across the courtyard and it was still affecting him. He hated to have them see him like this, weak and out of control.

Drako and Maddox both started to urinate as Ardvan clambered to his feet. They did it fully clothed without a single glance at the puddles forming at their feet. The Chosen were trained to act naturally even when faced with overwhelming fear. They could control the shaking of their bodies and over-ride the urge to flee, but they always pissed their pants the moment they caught a whiff of the dragon scent. It was disgusting but Ardvan wasn’t sure what was worse, pissing your pants or running like a frightened child. He had controlled his bladder this time but he could barely stand because his body was still shaking so hard. He kept looking wildly over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued. Logically he knew he was safe but his mind was so overcome with fear it kept playing out frightening scenarios and he felt compelled to look and make sure they were not coming true. Such was the power of the dragon scent. It was like a waking nightmare. He constantly had to reconcile his true reality with the reality his mind kept imposing upon him. It was confusing and terrifying and left him feeling shaken and weak for hours.

“Shall we get a drink? My bladder is empty and could use a refill.” Drako had put on his best smile but it looked more like a mocking leer. He stood completely at ease in his own puddle of urine. Other than the urine and one quick glance toward the door of the King’s lodge, he gave no sign of fear. His control was impressive.

I don’t want to be seen with a man who has just pissed his pants, thought Ardvan. “A drink would be great, something strong to kill my memory of this morning.”

“Do you need help mounting your horse?”

His horse was tied firmly and was now pulling frantically at its reigns trying to break free. The dragon scent was strong and the animal was working into a frenzy. It would take all the skill Ardvan could muster to control his frightened steed. “I can manage myself. You two go ahead. I’ll meet you at the Dragon’s Draught.”

Ardvan braced himself mentally and began walking towards his horse, hands raised in a calming gesture. He could barely keep his knees from buckling, but he had resolved to do this alone. He looked over his shoulder to ensure that no one was watching and saw Drako and Maddox sitting on their mounts staring down at him “Get,” Ardvan shooed them like dogs. “Do as I ask when I ask it.” He was shouting now and the men moved.

The whole situation was becoming more than he could bare, the embarrassment of running from his father, having his men watch him as he shook with fear, and now he had to attempt to mount a terrified horse. As he reflected on these things, he was surprised by the strength he felt ebbing back into his muscles. His horse reared wildly as he reached for the reigns and snapped at him with its teeth. Ardvan felt his anger fuel his veins with a new strength and he reacted without thinking, whipping his horse across the head and neck with the reigns. The more he beat the horse the greater his rage became. With each stroke he felt he was shattering the images of fear and failure that he carried in his mind. He beat his horse until the blood pouring from its ruined eye and torn neck had covered his hands and face. The reigns were slippery with sweat and blood and his horse was badly hurt.

Ardvan released his horse and it quickly bolted away from him about twenty feet before it stopped. In his heart he wanted to reach out to his favorite horse, but he could not find the courage to release his grasp on this new found strength. He turned his back on the wounded beast and began to run towards the tavern. He looked back once to see his horse walking slowly in circles with its head hanging low, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Perhaps he was more like his father than he realized. He opened himself to his anger and relished in the power he felt as his boiling blood pumped through his body. Part of him wanted turn back and confront his father again but even in this haze of fury he knew that such a meeting would prove fatal, and not for his father.

The path to the village wound down a steep hill about 1 mile and Ardvan ran it without tiring. As he entered the outer perimeter of the village he could see the people milling about looking at him curiously. They must have thought it strange to see him running like this, a lord without his horse usually walked with an air of authority and grace. He didn’t care what they thought and ran on. He passed between his men just as they were pulling up to the Tavern. Both of their horses startled and they had to fight to regain control. Ardvan saw the glance that passed between them. It was a look of surprise, but there was something else. He couldn’t put his finger on it but he stored that look in the back of his mind so he could discuss it later.

“I’ll meet you inside,” Ardvan shoved the door open and stood, breathing heavy in the doorway. The Dragon’s Draught was a Tavern that served free food and drinks to all the Chosen. It was one of the perks that came with the job. It was a filthy, broken down shanty and it was rare that anyone other than the Chosen ventured inside. The stench of dried urine was almost overpowering so it was no surprise that others rarely came in. As Ardvan’s eyes adjusted and he surveyed the room he could see several groups of men huddled together in casual conversation. Some looked his way to see who he was but the ones closest to him had all just released their bladders and were backing away from him in deference. Ardvan had only seen the Chosen back from his father and he was surprised to see them do this now. It filled him with such a feeling of pleasure that he lost his grip on the anger and smiled broadly.

“The next round of drinks is on me,” Ardvan moved to the bar and slapped his hand down. “Ale, and quickly, I have a thirst.”

The bar keep scrubbed out a large mug with a filthy cloth and filled it to the brim then slid it across the table to him. Everyone stood frozen watching him until one man in the corner of the room laughed saying, “I’ll have that drink then, since everyone else here drinks free.”

Ardvan looked across the room and saw a man of medium build standing in the back corner furthest from the bar. He was blocked in by a tight barricade of dragon spears. To touch them was a crime worthy of death so he stood straight and unmoving. In spite of his awkward position, his smile and attitude were open and easy and he seemed unaffected by his potentially lethal surroundings. The Chosen were not a group that anyone moved among freely unless you were one of them or the king himself. Clearly the man had intruded by entering this bar and now he was paying the price for his offence. There was no way for him to get out of the corner without removing some of the spears. Doing this would require him to touch the spears so the man was stuck.

“One drink for my friend, if he can manage to come and get it.” Ardvan scanned the group of Chosen and winked. They laughed, enjoying the jest.

“I have never yet turned down a free drink and I won’t today,” As the man spoke he lifted his arm and in one fluid movement he knocked down a whole side of his barricade with the frame of his harp. The Chosen lunged forward, shocked by his bold maneuver. The man just smiled and began retuning his harp as he kept walking forward. He crossed the room quickly and took a long draught from his mug of ale then spoke, “Relax men, I didn’t touch your spears, my harp did and I know there is no law against that.” He smiled again as he took another long pull of his ale. The Chosen seemed to take measure of the situation and seeing he had done nothing wrong, they relaxed. A few even chuckled at his cleverness.

Ardvan immediately liked the man. He had a manner about him that made him relax and feel a strong sense of peace within himself. He didn’t know the man but he felt immediately that he could trust him. The feeling of calm and trust was so strong the only emotional response he could compare it to was the unreasonable fear and unease he felt when he was around his father. It was very strange and he felt he should mistrust such an instinctive response to someone whose name he did not even know. However, in spite of lingering doubts that bubbled up in the back of his mind, he knew beyond question that this man was his friend.

“I suppose you are wondering who I am.”

Ardvan had been staring slack-jawed and he quickly clamped his jaw shut and smiled nodding.

The man gently placed his harp on the bar and turned to face him. Standing with his arms straight down at his sides, he bowed quickly and gracefully.

“I am called Mizuya and I have come to this land in search of you.”

Ardvan’s eyes opened in surprise, “Why would anyone come looking for me?”

“I have come to meet the next Crown Prince and successor of the great King Drakinval. I did not expect to see you until the announcement at the Dragon fire festival this evening. However, when you entered the bar your demeanor gave you away—clearly you must be the Crown Prince!” Mizuya said this with a flourish of his hands and another more formal bow.

The smile froze upon Ardvan’s face and his feelings of ease, trust and friendship were devoured in the fierce flames of his anger. He could not yet tell if this man was deliberately goading him or actually so stupid that he did not already know what everyone else in the kingdom knew—the crown belonged to Hamred. As Mizuya straightened from his long bow he met Ardvan’s eyes with a steady gaze. The rest of the Chosen had already released their bladders as their bodies reacted to the dragon scent that Ardvan was expressing in his almost overwhelming anger. Everyone had backed away carefully and yet this man still stood unaffected, gave him another easy smile, and reached for his harp.

“Allow me to play you a simple tune. I think you will like it.”

Oblivious to the danger around him and standing before him defenseless, Mizuya picked up his harp and began to play.