Page 37 of Dragon Slayer

“Send my regards,” Mircea said, reaching up to pat Val fondly on the cheek. “Have fun. Be careful with my favorite brother, Fen!” he called as he and his wolf escort retreated toward the stairs.

“No worries on that, your grace,” Fenrir assured, and off they went again.

They caught up with Vlad in Mother’s garden, on the hedge-lined path that led past the stables toward the gate. Vlad had come to a stop, kicking at stray pebbles, impatient as he waited. He glanced up with a nod that seemed to sayfinallywhen they appeared, Val riding on Fenrir’s shoulders by that point. Two human men-at-arms waited a few paces away, arms folded, relaxed and awaiting their little prince’s orders. This was their into-the-city escort, Val knew.

“What kept you?” Vlad asked.

You were too fast, Val thought. But that was something a baby would say. So he said, “We ran into Mircea. He said he can’t come.”

Vlad snorted. “When does he ever? Come on.”

The men-at-arms made to fall in.

“I’ll take them,” Fenrir said, setting Val down on his feet beside his brother.

One of the guards shrugged, but Val thought he looked relieved.

The afternoon stretched out before them as they walked through the gates, across the bridge, and headed down the motte’s slope toward the city proper, a glorious, too-warm, high-summer day filled with the thrum and call of humanity, the sun a bright discus overhead. Val held a bit of his brother’s sleeve pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and felt a not-unpleasant prickling of sweat beneath his clothes, cool drops gathering at the back of his neck under his hair, sliding down between his shoulder blades. He loved the heat; though his fair skin would flush, and if left too long in the sun without a hat, or a cup of water, or a stolen bit of shade he was wont to faint, he liked the way summer made everything feel so alive. Winter was a dead season; not without its charms – Mother’s soothing voice as she read to them, the crackle of logs, the scent of wine, and pipe smoke, and the raucous shouts of wolf laughter and conversation. But winter was all indoors, shut up against the snow, and his hands cracked and bled in the dry air. Summer, though, summer was ripe, and unrushed, and all the green things thrived.

Val breathed deep through his nose, and he could smelleverything, scents tripping over one another in their haste to be identified. As the city swallowed them, Val could smell the hundreds and hundreds of scent markers of human commoners; the vegetables and freshly-butchered meats on offering in the market stalls; tobacco smoke; fresh flowers; sweat and offal; and best of all, the competing savory and sweet flavors of the vendor food being hawked with enthusiastic shouts.

Fenrir drew some looks, in part for his size, in part for his mass of curly red hair, but mostly because he wore the finely-tailored red tunic, breeches, and knee-boots of the princely household. It was probably Fenrir that Vlad’s friends spotted first, a moment before a skinny arm shot through the crowd.

“Vlad!” Marcus shouted, shouldering his way between bodies, dragging Nicolae along behind him. “There you are. Finally! We’ll have to hurry, they’ve already started – oh,” he said, voice falling flat at the end when he spotted Val.

Val pinched Vlad’s sleeve tighter, gathered it in his whole hand, squeezed until his knuckles went white.

Marcus – ten and tall for his age, broad-shouldered and already starting to resemble the man he would become – turned to look over his shoulder at Nicolae, who made a helpless sort of gesture in response. Marcus turned back, looking at Vlad – just at Vlad. “You brought your brother?”

Two days ago, Vlad had dumped a handful of fireplace ashes down the back of Val’s shirt – and caught a single blow from Father’s riding crop across the backs of his thighs for the effort. But that was nothing new; he would stick wet fingers in Val’s ears, and muss his hair on purpose, and had blamed mud tracked on the rug on Val. “Brother things,” Mother would say with a shake of her head.

But here now, in front of his friends, Vlad drew himself up like a bristling cat, stuck out his chin, puffed up his chest, and said, “So what if I did?”

Marcus and Nicolae exchanged another look, one Val had no hope of interpreting.

“Alright,” Nicolae said. “Follow us.”

Fenrir was able to bull his way through the crowd, the four boys following along in his wake. The tight press of bodies around them, the overwhelming headiness of so much scent at once, tightened a sensation almost like panic in Val’s belly. He held the back of Fenrir’s tunic with one hand, Vlad’s sleeve with the other. Vlad shot him a dark look, like he thought he was acting like a baby, but didn’t shake him off.

“I hear there’s women in this troupe,” Marcus said with a laugh. “From the Far East. And they’renaked.”

Nicolae chuckled.

Vlad said, “You’re lying.”

“It’s just what I heard!”

“What you hoped, you mean,” Nicolae said, andthenVlad laughed.

“You’ll see,” Marcus grumbled. “They’ll be naked, and then you’ll have to cover little Baby Radu’s eyes.”

Thatname.

Val faltered a step…but then Vlad took his hand from his sleeve, slid it into his own, their fingers laced. Vlad’s palms were callused and tough from riding and training. Only eight, but he could gallop bareback, down a hare with a bow from horseback, and wield a short sword meant for a much older boy.

Val caught himself, letting his brother’s strong grip tow him along, and the name didn’t bother him so badly.

The crowd parted around Fenrir, at first because of the sheer spectacle of him, and then because they noted, sometimes with quiet gasps and exclamations, the two boys who trailed behind him. One dark and one light, hands clenched tight. One sallow and harsh like their father, one golden and slight as their mother.

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