The Boy With The Sword

By Patrick Matthews and Jeff Brown

How far would you go to save your home?

A lot has happened since Al left home. He’s learned to sail, fought assassins, faced down dragons, even seen an entire city be destroyed.

Now, he just wants to go home.

But Al's home has changed.

The castle and city have fallen under the control of Magiste

• Language: English
• Publisher: Second Story Up
• Release date: Aug 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733077729

Patrick Matthews

An author and award-winning game designer, Patrick Matthews believes that the core of writing, like game design, revolves around crafting an effective experience for the customer. He writes fast-paced fiction that takes readers on exciting adventures, but also gives them experiences and concepts that stick with them long after the book is over. Find out more at www.pat-matthews.com.

Book preview

Prologue

A New World

Al stared at the giant black-scaled head. It lay on its side, with its mouth open so wide he could have walked inside it. He shivered. The dragon’s dead eyes seemed to be staring right at him.

"Eww, Trillia said. She was using a broken branch to walk, keeping her weight off her splinted leg. How can you stand there with it looking at you like that?"

I don’t know. Just trying to let it sink in, I guess.

Well, don’t. It’s nasty.

Yeah. Steam seeped out of the creature, barely visible in the predawn air, and smelling faintly of spoiled vinegar.

Wisp leaned one shoulder against the creature’s body and crossed his arms. Hard to believe, isn’t it?

Al nodded. Dead dragons littered the fields for miles, a grim city of corpses beneath the autumn sun. He shivered again. The thrill of defeating Archovar had worn off during the night. I think I’m going to walk for a bit.

Wisp straightened. I’ll go with you.

Don’t go too far, Trillia said. Captain Stani will be ready to take us home soon.

Home. Al could barely believe it was still there. When the dragon war had started, he’d been certain his family would be lost forever. But the war had ended almost as quickly as it began, with dragons dropping out of the sky like poisoned flies.

He walked between the corpses, barely seeing them. Following Captain Stani’s orders, they’d camped under the trees the night before. It had been a long night, not knowing if his parents were alive or dead, but Stani was right. Arriving at Castle Surflienne in the dark of night, when the soldiers were still on edge from the dragon war, would have been too dangerous.

Hey, Wisp said in surprise. Check out this one. He rapped his knuckles on a dragon skull that was burned down to the bone. No flesh or scales remained, just scorched bone. Must have died in the war, flamed by another dragon.

Al took a long time to respond. When he’d killed the dragons, all he’d been thinking about was saving his family, not about the dragons that would die. Had they all been as bad as Archovar? Had there been good ones, too? Ones that hadn’t deserved the poison? What happens now?

Wisp didn’t answer.

"I mean, the dragons are gone. They’re the ones who created us, the ones who protected us—"

The ones who lied to us, Wisp interrupted. The ones who killed us. The ones who enslaved us. We’re better off without them. You know that.

Al exhaled. Wisp was right. Their entire society had been based on a lie. The dragons had been truly evil. Al knew of two cities that they’d completely destroyed, and he was sure there were more.

Even so, it was hard to believe they were gone. What will we do now?

Some Magisters should still be alive, Wisp said. They won’t be in charge anymore, but they’ll still help.

The Magisters were the people trained by the dragons to do magic. Most of them had died when Archovar, the ruler of the dragons, had destroyed the city of Sadraki.

I guess, Al said.

It’s a new world. Wisp gestured at the dragon skull. No more dragons flying overhead, telling us what to do, or how to do it.

No more Cullers, Al said. The Cullers were the dragons’ assassins. He had spent weeks running from them.

That’s what Bird thinks, Wisp said. Lena, too.

I wish they hadn’t left, Al said. Outside of Wisp and Trillia, Bird was Al’s closest friend.

Bird had no choice. Last time he was here, the city guard threw him in a dungeon. Wisp grinned. And I’m pretty sure Lena’s dad sent her home to keep her away from you.

Al blushed. Lena was Captain Stani’s daughter. Wisp was convinced she had a crush on Al. He wasn’t so sure.

Don’t worry, Wisp said. They’ll come back. Once everyone finds out you killed the dragons, you’ll be a hero.

I poisoned them, Wisp. Al kicked a stone. Poison isn’t heroic.

Oh, come off it. You faced down two dragons. If it wasn’t for you, we’d all be dead. Who cares if you used poison?

Al didn’t answer.

Wisp wrapped his arm around Al’s shoulders and walked him back toward Trillia. Come on. Captain Stani and his men should be ready by now.

Yeah, Al shifted and pulled up his scabbard so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. You’re right.

Wisp grinned. Aren’t I always?

Just one thing, Al said. Let’s keep the poison thing quiet, okay?

Chapter 1

Returning Home

Al stood in his stirrups, searching for his family in the crowd of people that flooded out of Castle Surflienne. The castle had been the safest place to hide during the dragon war. Now that it was over, everyone was going home.

After all these weeks, Al thought, he was finally going to see them again. So much had happened since they’d sent him away. So much had changed. All he wanted was to be back home, to eat some of his mother’s famous redberry jam, and to sleep in his own bed.

He peered up at the castle, searching heads and faces, but the crowds were both too thick and too far away. Sinking back to his saddle, he tilted his scabbard so his sword hilt wouldn’t poke him in the belly. He wished he didn’t have to keep it pulled up so high, but the scabbard was too big, taken from a dead soldier in Sadraki.

Relax, Trillia said. She sat sidesaddle on her horse to favor her splinted leg. Your dad won’t even notice it.

It looks silly sticking up like this, Al said, adjusting the scabbard again, like I’m a little kid or something.

Well, Wisp said, riding up next to him, you kind of are.

Al sighed. Leave it to Wisp to point out the obvious.

Leave him alone, Trillia said. "He’s a hero now. What he looks like doesn’t matter. You, on the other hand, are . . ."

Breathtakingly handsome, Wisp finished with a grin, as always.

Trillia and Al both burst out laughing.

All three of them were stained and grimy from days of riding, their faces streaked with ash from the fires at Sadraki. Even so, Al knew he looked the worst. His current jacket and shirt, like his scabbard, had been scrounged from a battlefield. They were too big for him and had holes where he’d ripped off the Culler insignia. He was also the most awkward on his horse, and his unruly mop of brown hair hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. In contrast, Wisp was taller and more graceful, with black hair so short that it didn’t need combing, and Trillia . . . well, Trillia always looked good.

Seriously, Trillia said. In your wildest dreams, did you ever imagine this? She spread her arms wide, gesturing to the dead dragons that towered all around them. Even the smallest was big enough to swallow a horse. The largest dwarfed everything but the castle. Steam drifted from their gargantuan bodies and insects buzzed around their open eyes.

No, Wisp murmured with a sidelong glance at Al. No one did.

Al sucked in his breath. He had done this. The dragon armies had been here when the poison killed them, meeting in the first and final battle of a dragon war. They were the creators of the mortal races, had ruled them for as long as anyone could remember. Now they were dead, lying in motionless piles. All because of him. It’s kind of creepy, he said.

Creepy? Trillia rounded on him. It’s fantastic, she said. And you did this. She raised her hands up over her head. We did this!

I’d not be so quick to trumpet that, a soldier growled. Like Captain Stani and the rest of the Sadraki Guard, he was a windwalker, nine feet tall and covered with white fur beneath his armor. His blue eyes were bright and angry. Because of you, our city is destroyed. Because of you, we lost our families. His voice was thick with emotion. Because of you—

That’s enough, Captain Stani interrupted. The evacuation is almost complete. We’ll wait until all the people are clear before we approach.

The soldier’s head snapped back to facing front. Yes, sir.

Trillia’s face had paled beneath her red hair. I didn’t mean it that way, she said. I just meant . . . she stopped. I’m sorry.

The windwalker did not reply.

I didn’t think, Trillia whispered.

Wisp reached over and touched her shoulder.

She leaned close to him. It wasn’t our fault.

I know, Wisp said.

Al looked down at his hands. He hadn’t thought about the dragon war from that point of view. What if others felt that way? What if Mom and Dad do?

What are you thinking? Wisp asked.

Nothing, Al said.

They’ll take you back, Wisp said. You know they will. With the dragons gone, being rank zero doesn’t matter anymore.

I know.

He didn’t, though. No matter what else happened, he was still a rank zero. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. The ranks had just been a tool of the dragons, a way to measure how much Potentia a person could hold. Besides, he shook his horse’s reins, I had my rank mark changed.

Every person over the age of twelve had a rank mark, a skincarving on the back of the neck that indicated rank. It was illegal to change a rank mark, but his had been changed to a two.

No one but a Magister would be able to tell he was a zero.

His rank was why he’d been sent away in the first place. Zeroes weren’t just ostracized; they were killed, hunted down along with their families. When Al had been ranked, his parents had changed the official records to say he had been adopted. The change had saved his family.

Al, on the other hand, had been forced to flee into the mountains, alone. The thought still made him angry. How could Mom and Dad just abandon me like that? He forced it away. Now that the dragons were dead, no one would be hunting zeroes. His family could take him back.

The people seemed to take forever to leave the castle, most walking west toward the city of Dockside, others south, into the fields where Al used to live. As the castle emptied, the last grays of morning left the sky, leaving it a cold autumn blue.

As many as there are, Wisp said. I thought there’d be more.

Yeah, Trillia said. It looks like a lot of Dockside didn’t evacuate.

Some people just don’t listen, Captain Stani said. It doesn’t matter what you tell them.

Al turned his attention from the crowds to the castle on the hill. Castle Surflienne was surrounded by a tall stone wall, thick enough for archers to walk along its top. A section of the north wall had been destroyed when a dragon crashed through it, leaving a jagged gash in the castle defenses.

Al pulled his scabbard up a little higher, wondering where his family was.

Relax, Trillia said again. It doesn’t matter what you look like. Your parents are going to be thrilled to see you. Right, Wisp?

Wisp nodded without taking his eyes off the castle. Sure.

Al didn’t say anything. He honestly didn’t think his dad would care how he looked. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t.

It was almost noon before the road to the castle was clear. Captain Stani led the way, weaving between dragon corpses. Al stood in his stirrups, trying to see.

Finally, he spotted his dad in front of the open castle gate. Beside him stood Wisp’s dad, Mr. Evanson, in black leather armor. His long gray hair was tied back into a braid. Two other men were with them. One was overweight and leaning on a big stick. The other wore a dark green velvet vest that hung open to reveal a chest covered by a vibrant orange and red skincarving of the sun.

Al glanced at Wisp. Why were their parents standing outside the castle gate, looking like they owned the place?

Maybe it’s because your dad’s an Overseer? Wisp asked.

Al shook his head. His dad was in charge of a collection of farms a couple of miles south of Castle Surflienne, but he was just one of several Overseers in the region, not someone important enough to be standing next to . . . Al squinted at the other men, not sure who they were.

The guy with the stick is Master Huron, Trillia said. He’s my uncle.

Stable master, right? Wisp said.

Yeah. My parents must have sent him. I guess they’re still mad.

Why are they standing there? Al asked. And why is my dad wearing his Overseer’s coat? His dad only wore the brushed long jacket for formal occasions.

Trillia shrugged. They probably knew we were coming. They’re obviously waiting for us.

Something’s wrong, Wisp said. My dad’s in his armor. He doesn’t do that unless there’s trouble. Who’s the guy in the vest?

You really think Dad is waiting to see me? Al asked, his heart speeding up.

Al, Wisp said. Something’s wrong. We should hang back.

That’s my dad, Wisp. He doesn’t care I’m a zero, after all.

Exactly, Wisp said. What are our dads doing at the castle? Where’s Lord Surflienne? Where’s Magister Primus?

Magister Primus had been sent to help rebuild after the dragon war. As Magister, he outranked everyone else. If anyone should have been standing at the gate of the castle, it was him.

I think Wisp’s right, Trillia said. This doesn’t feel right.

Al barely heard. All he could think about was being back with this dad. Heart racing, he slid off his horse, adjusted his scabbard, and ran.

Halfway there, his dad gave the tiniest shake of his head. Alluencien, he said formally.

Al’s feet slowed. His dad never used his full name.

Nice to see you again. When you ran away, we worried that something had happened.

Dad? Al said. His dad’s words didn’t make any sense. He’d only run away after he’d been disowned and told to run away.

No need to pretend I’m your father, his dad said. Everyone knows you are adopted.

Al’s feet stopped moving. His mouth closed. Behind him, he heard the rustle and chuff of the horses catching up to him.

Not again. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His father wasn’t rejecting him again. He couldn’t be.

I hope you had a pleasant trip back from Sadraki, his dad said.

Al’s eyes flicked to the other men. Mr. Evanson’s face was closed and hard, completely unreadable. Trillia’s uncle was smiling, his arms out wide to hug his niece. The stranger in the green vest was watching the windwalkers, his eyes narrow.

Yeah, Al said sourly. I guess you could say that.

Sir. Captain Stani dismounted. Al deserves better. He rested a massive gauntleted hand on Al’s shoulder. After the Magisters fell, he and his friends took up arms to defend my home. He is the one who killed the dragons, the one who stood alone against Archovar. If I were you, I’d be proud to call him my son.

Al watched his dad closely, hoping for some sign of acknowledgment. Archovar had been the ruler of the dragons for longer than any of them had been alive.

The expression on the face of Al’s dad stayed distant and formal. His eyes looked disinterested. Thank you, Captain.

The man in the green vest stiffened. "He killed the dragons?"

Captain Stani nodded. Yes, sir, and saved the Sadraki Guard as well. Without him, none of us would be alive.

But how? the man asked.

That’s for him to say, Captain Stani said, and not why we are here. The college of Magisters is gone, and Sadraki is all but destroyed. My city needs supplies for the winter, whatever you can spare now, and trade in the future.

Master Huron hugged his niece. The Magisters are gone? he echoed. And Sadraki?

Burned by Archovar, Captain Stani said.

"Lord Archovar," the man in the green vest said.

If Sadraki burned, Magister Lundi must be dead. Mr. Evanson said, his voice rough. He glanced at Al, then gripped his son’s hand. Come on, Wisp.

But dad—

Talk later.

My name is Orion Pilgrommor, Al’s dad said to Captain Stani. I manage Surflienne’s supplies. Bring your men. We’ll find you what you need. He turned and walked through the castle gates.

Heart pounding, Al watched his dad leave.

Captain Stani squeezed Al’s shoulder. You’re welcome to come with us.

Not trusting his voice, Al shook his head. He didn’t want to go back to Sadraki. With or without his family, his home was here.

Captain Stani paused, then walked away. Behind him, his soldiers dismounted and followed, grim faced. More than one patted Al’s back or rested a friendly hand on his shoulder as he walked by.

Once they were gone, Al looked around, uncertain where to go or what to do. Behind him, Trillia and her uncle were leading the horses away. She was talking nonstop, tears streaking her face. By the gate, Wisp argued with his dad, gesturing angrily back toward Al.

Meeting Al’s eyes over his son’s head, Mr. Evanson shook his head sharply, then took Wisp by the shoulders and walked him into the castle. Wisp turned his head and mouthed, I’m sorry, as he was dragged away.

Al’s eyes burned. Why did I expect any different? He was a zero, the lowest of the low. Of course his dad didn’t want him. He clenched his fists. I will not cry, he thought fiercely. Not here. Not now.

The man in the green vest stood before the open castle gate, arms crossed over his tattooed chest. Eye-twisting swirls of blue and black covered his left arm, and his right was carved in green and blue triangles.

Oh no, Al thought, staring at the skincarvings. Why didn’t I realize it sooner? He’s a Magister. Only Magisters had that many Porta, the skincarvings needed to perform magic. Magisters were the most powerful magic users, and could easily sense that Al was a zero. If that happens, Al thought, I could be in trouble. There was no way of knowing if the Magister was the live-and-let-live type, or the kill-all-zeroes-to-keep-the-bloodlines-pure type. Al didn’t want to find out.

He glanced around, looking for an escape route.

Soldiers flanked the man, their swords sheathed, their uniforms emblazoned in blue and green, the river-and-mountains insignia of Surflienne. Al didn’t recognize any of them. Archers walked the wall above, silhouetted against the blue sky.

It’s hard to believe you killed the dragons, the Magister said. A boy your age, and without any Porta.

Where’s Lord Surflienne? Al asked. Lord Surflienne was the ruler of the castle, appointed to that position by the dragon Gronar. Dragons ruled everything. They were so powerful, that no human, not even a Magister, would dare oppose a dragon’s appointed ruler. Or they wouldn’t have, Al thought, while the dragons still lived.

He disappeared before the dragon war.

Al swallowed. Magister Primus? Lundi sent him here to help with the dragon war. He should be—

Primus is dead.

Al’s stomach lurched. He was out of possible protectors.

I’m Magister Trejir. the man said.

Al struggled to keep his face blank.

Trejir continued. I have appointed myself ruler of this castle, at least until the dragons return.

Al didn’t respond. The dragons weren’t coming back. He knew that better than anyone. It didn’t matter, though. The most important thing now was to get away before Trejir realized he was a zero, but where could he go? Wisp and Trillia were nowhere to be seen, and his dad was out of the question. Down the hill to the west, he could see the roofs of Dockside, a chaotic collection of stone and wood buildings stacked next to the river Flienne. The last time he’d been in Dockside, the city guard had thrown him in the dungeon.

Did you hear me? Trejir said sharply. I am your new lord.

Al forced himself to face the man. His tutoring in etiquette hadn’t covered Magisters who claimed to be castle lords. Pleased to meet you, Lord Magister.

Better, Magister Trejir said. Tell me of Archovar.

That’s why he’s talking to me, Al thought. He wants to know if I really did it! The lord of the dragons is dead, Al said, along with all the rest.

Impossible.

I killed him myself, Al said. Ask the windwalkers if you don’t believe me.

Magister Trejir stared at him coldly for several seconds, his face an angry mask. I don’t like your tone, he said at last.

Al flushed and lowered his eyes. Sorry.

Sorry what?

Sorry, Lord Magister, Al said, carefully. Magister Trejir was rigid with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

He looks like he wants to kill me! Al thought. He’d seen that look before, on the face of a Culler who actually did try to kill him. He kept his gaze lowered as Magister Trejir loomed over him.

You will come with me, Trejir said. I want to hear what happened to my lord Archovar.

I can’t, Al said, taking a step backward. He had a strong feeling that if he followed Trejir, he’d end up in the dungeon, or worse. Maybe tomorrow, Lord Magister?

Trejir’s face flushed and his eyes narrowed. You do not say no to—

Excuse me, Al’s dad called from the castle gate. Magister Trejir? When you’re done with that boy, I could use your help negotiating with the windwalkers.

That boy, Al thought numbly. He’d been reduced to being that boy.

Trejir’s gaze ran up and down Al, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Al just stood. He didn’t really care what Trejir did. All he could think about was his dad.

Very well, Trejir said, at last. Noon, tomorrow. The men at the gate will let you in.

Okay, Al lied.

Do not be late.

I won’t, Lord Magister.

One last thing, Magister Trejir said. It is customary for people to kneel when in my presence, at least until I give them permission to do otherwise. I expect you to remember that tomorrow.

Yes, Lord Magister, Al said.

Trejir strode away, leaving Al alone in front of the castle.

Al turned and picked his way down the hill toward Dockside, winding between dead dragons.

The scene at the castle played over and over in his head, like a bad dream he couldn’t wake up from. First, his dad had rejected him, then he’d almost been captured by a Magister. His mind picked the easier problem to focus on. Hearing about the death of Archovar had sent Trejir into a rage. Had the Magister known the dragon? Had he actually liked him?

Al pulled his jacket tighter around him. The air was nowhere near as cold as Sadraki, but he was still shivering.

And now I’m going to Dockside.

As far as he knew, the city guard was still looking for him.

It’s not like I have any choice. he muttered. The castle was out of the question. Wisp and Trillia were both with their families, and he certainly couldn’t go back home. His dad had made that clear.

I just need to find a place out of the cold, he thought, somewhere I can be alone and figure out what to do.

He stopped, looking to the north of Dockside. Somewhere I can be alone.

There was no place lonelier than the Sunken City.

Chapter 2

Sunken Feathers

Al balanced on the dike bordering the Sunken City. Once the northernmost part of Dockside, it had flooded generations earlier. Rather than try to drain and rebuild it, the city had simply built a dike around it. The locals called it the Sunken City, and ignored it. Al had been there once before, though, to get his rank mark illegally changed from a zero to a two.

A splash sounded at the base of the dike. Al peered down, but the filthy brown water made it impossible to tell whether the creature was a rat or something more sinister. He drew his sword and moved along the dike.

Not all the streets were flooded. They rose and fell with the natural contours of the land, leaving the low spots deep under water and the higher roads with only an inch or so. Al was looking for one of those higher roads.

Stopping, he examined the mostly dry street that dead-ended into the dike he was standing on. It certainly looked like the road he remembered. Sheathing his sword, he lowered himself over the edge, hung for a moment from his fingertips, and dropped.

Down here, the lapping of the water sounded louder, and drips and creaks and rustles echoed all around. Al yanked his scabbard higher so it wouldn’t trip him and broke into a jog. He had a pretty good idea of a safe place to hide, an empty shell of a building that smelled horrible, but was dry and safe. The quicker he reached it, the less likely he was of being spotted. Besides, there was really no reason not to run. Ever since the Tower of Peace, where he’d been bombarded with enough Potentia to kill a regular person, his muscles didn’t get tired.

Potentia was the source of all magic. Despite what everyone believed, the rank marks didn’t indicate how good a person was. They just showed how much Potentia a person could hold. Al was a zero. The way Magister Lundi had explained it, because he was a zero Al was completely unresponsive