Prince of Dragons

Chapter 18 - Capture

Carlard sat at his desk, trying to read a book but finding himself unable to concentrate. His head was throbbing and his stomach hurt. He still clung to a trace of hope that Vaciana would return with good news, but he knew deep down that she wouldn't; he was merely waiting for a Servant sent by Darfith to arrive.

He had considered fleeing, but he knew it would be futile. Sooner or later, they would find him. They always found the people they were looking for.

Suddenly, the door creaked. A man appeared on the doorstep.

"Lord Darfith is displeased, Carlard," a familiar voice said.

Carlard looked up. He recognised Jamian, the First Servant, and raised an eyebrow. "Why has he sent you? Should I feel honoured?"

Jamian chuckled. "You're no coward; I have to give you that. I had expected you to flee."

"There's no use fleeing, is there?" Carlard asked. "You're notorious for your ability to track people down."

"You're right," Jamian said, looking very pleased with himself. "It's no use."

Carlard's mind was racing. He had expected someone he did not know, but he did know Jamian. If only he could think of something now...

He got up carefully, his hands in the air. "You've won this time, Jamian," he said. "I surrender. I don't stand a chance against as talented a person as you are."

Jamian smiled. "Thank you, Carlard. Oh, by the way, please don't try to escape. I would have to hurt you if you did."

"Understandably," Carlard said. "I know your use of fire is excellent." If only he could keep him distracted for long enough.

"It is," Jamian said, grinning. He was clearly enjoying Carlard's flattery. He stepped aside, beckoning Carlard to step into the hallway. "After you."

And then Carlard saw his rescue. He smiled ever so slightly and gave Jamian a short nod. "There's something else you're quite famous for, Jamian."

"What then?" Jamian asked, grinning in the expectation of yet another compliment.

Carlard came closer and leaned towards him. "You're also notoriously arrogant," he said in a low voice.

And then Joandrey shot a poisonous dart at him with her blowpipe. It hit Jamian in the back of his neck with a soft thud. The First Servant's eyes widened in surprise.

Then he collapsed.

Joandrey stepped into the room over Jamian's limp body, twirling the blowpipe between her fingers. "You needed me?"

"Let's get out of here," Carlard said, walking past her out the door.

"What?" Joandrey called after him, clearly displeased. "No thank you? Not a tiny drop of gratefulness?"

Carlard turned around. "What is the point? It was only logical that you saved me: I'm your superior, you know. On top of that, we don't have time for redundant gratitude right now."

"Redundant?" Joandrey said, even more displeased now. She walked up to him and poked a finger in his chest. "Listen, sir. I don't know if you realise it, but without my interference, you'd be a prisoner now. Do you know what Jamian would have done with you? He'd have brought you to lord Darfith. And Darfith would have killed you. I don't care how many times you're my superior: you owe me. Get that into that stubborn head of yours."

Carlard looked from Joandrey's face to her index finger, unsure how to react. This was new. Since when did people talk to him like that? It just didn't seem... right.