Crack! Crack! The butt of the heavy bladed halberd smashed twice into the granite flagstones of the throne room. ‘Hear ye, Hear ye! By the leave of his majesty Ryker the second, Dragon of these halls, I command you! Clear the court of food! The Lore Master comes!’
Having bellowed his command, the Preceptor of the Dragon Guard strode to the middle of the hall and scanned the court as if looking for anyone stupid enough to have smuggled in anything edible even though everyone in the room had been thoroughly searched before being allowed in. No-one was entirely sure why the restriction was enforced but objecting would mean being banned from the midsummer season at court. It was a ceremony that hadn’t changed in living memory, but it marked the start of the busiest time in court life where awards were made, petitions heard and marriage contracts finalized.
The king remained motionless in his throne as one of the enormous doors of the Dragon’s gate, set in the southern wall of the throne room, creaked open wider, but crown prince Vann, on the king’s right, straightened in his chair and surreptitiously tried to smooth out the wrinkles and creases in his blue linen tunic. On the other side, Princess Bria, the king’s niece had let her curly brown hair fall around her face trying to conceal her ‘bored with ceremony’ expression.
An old man in bright yellow robes appeared in the doorway that linked the Southern Hall and the Northern Palace, leaning on a wooden staff, clutched in his age-spotted left hand. His robes had a hood that tightly wrapped his head coming down to the bridge of his nose and blindfolding him. As he shuffled down the side aisle, the only sound that could be heard in the vast throne room was the clack, scrape, clack, scrape of the staff on the rough flagstones. Even with his eyes covered, the Lore Master didn’t need a guide. When he reached the centre aisle, he paused on the blue carpet and waited for the Preceptor to fall in behind him, before making his way, very slowly, towards the western end of the court room where the king sat on his throne atop a massive dais. The throne itself was a magnificent seat, with intricate carving, inlays of precious stones and acres of gold leaf but somehow it still didn’t dominate the room. It was eye-catching but a little lost on the huge platform.
The Lore Master stopped at the bottom of the two steps up to the dais and bowed to the king, then turned and bowed to the crown prince before turning and bowing to princess Bria.
The herald to the left of the princess had a voice to match the Preceptor “The Lore Master of the Dragon guard approaches the throne. Will the King of the Isles hear his plea?”
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The King nodded slightly. ‘I will hear your petition, Lore Master.’
The Lore Master dipped his head and spoke. ‘Sire, the Dragon guard has dwindled. One hundred years ago there were eighteen knights. I must, once again, petition you to increase our numbers. We are now too few even to maintain our ancient duties let alone the additional burden of dispensing law on the other islands laid on us two hundred years ago. With the unfortunate loss of Sir Blevin this winter, there are now only twelve guards and me left’
The king looked coolly at the Lore Master. ‘I hear your request, Lore Master, as I have heard it every year. Your purpose is to fight dragons but there have been no dragons for a century. You provide guards for ceremonial occasions and you only need to investigate and dispense justice for serious crimes. I do not think you are overstretched.’
The Lore Master rubbed his free hand on the side of his yellow robe and the knuckles of the hand holding the staff whitened. ‘Sire, the portents show that dragons, real winged fire-breathing dragons, will return and soon. Candidates must begin their training soon, or we are lost. A dozen men, however valiant, can’t be expected to stand against a forty-foot reptile.’
The king sighed. ‘Very well. I grant that Blevin, at least, should be replaced and that the order is weaker than in days gone by. I shall allow the Dragon guard to recruit and train new warriors so that the strength, tradition and lore of the order be maintained. The Dragon guard are not the strain on the royal purse that many of the court functionaries are.’ He glowered across the dais to where the herald stood, resplendent in blue and gold tabard, before glancing back to the Preceptor in his battered pink armour.
The court usual had a soft background noise, with fabric rustling and the occasional whisper but now was absolutely silent and still. The request hadn’t been granted for over 100 years and everyone waited to see what would be next.
Crown prince Vann raised his hand, breaking the frozen moment and a quiet murmuring started.
The king turned to look at him ‘Yes, son’
‘How does one get selected to join the guard?’
The king turned back to the Lore Master and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well Lore Master? It’s a fair question.’
The Lore Master who was frozen to the spot, completely blindsided by the king’s decision, finally stuttered ‘I I I ... Preceptor?’
The murmur grew.
The Preceptor lifted his hand and the court fell silent, expecting him to make some announcement. But he didn’t speak. His hand clicked open the throat latches of his helm and he took it off. The court’s collective jaw dropped in shock. No-one had ever seen one of the guard take off a helm or even remove a gauntlet during any ceremony. The helm itself was curious because the front was solid, with no visor or eye slits. Like the Lore Master, the Preceptor appeared to have been blindfolded. Taking it off revealed a surprisingly young-looking man with olive skin and short brown hair.
His green eyes swept the court and he grinned.