The Azure Rider Ch 01

Agatha muttered a stream of silent expletives as a well-dressed, portly, young nobleman dragged her through a narrow corridor of the gambling house in the Central Market of the city of Rubenstraad. The man, Lyon Rhynster, was the youngest son of Lord Algernon Rhynster, the Baron of the great Rhynster estate and Chief of the Advisory Council of the current regime. Lyon Rhynster was close to thirty years old, but with a layer of fat spilling over his breeches and a prematurely receding hairline, he looked closer to forty. In this instance, he was clearly inebriated.

"Please, Sir, I am not a whore. You are making a mistake," Agatha pleaded as she tried to wrench her hand from his vice grip.

"You are one now," Lyon Rhynster slurred back at her, as though that settled the matter. For the thousandth time, Agatha cursed her decision to visit her friend, Lyla, in the evening. Lyla had suspected that she was pregnant when she missed her moonblood last week, and had sent for Agatha to bring her one of her potions for a discrete abortion. Agatha, who had difficulty saying no to complete strangers, had rushed to the aid of her friend as soon as she had managed to complete her tasks for the day. Meister Erwan, the court's physician and her mentor, had not been happy with her decision to visit the brothel. "You spend too much time making potions for the harem women already. You need to devote more time to the soldiers. The Luteri uprising will not stop anytime soon."

"I'll be back in an hour," Agatha had promised him. And now she was stuck with an intoxicated nobleman in a public place, with no way of escaping him without revealing her powers. Agatha shuddered, thinking of how the men around them would react if she cast a spell on Lyon Rhynster. She decided it would not be wise to attempt that. Women had burned at the stake for less. Lyon Rhynster dragged her through a set of ornate double doors into a dimly lit, crowded chamber.

He took a seat at a round table and dragged Agatha along with him on the chair beside him, never relinquishing the firm grip on her wrist. Agatha was beginning to lose circulation in that hand.

"Here, Castor," he gave her a little push and she nearly landed on the lap of a bearded, heavyset man sitting next to her, "I am holding up my end of the bargain. Now where's my gold?"

The man called Castor glanced up from the cards splayed open in his palm and ran his eyes over Agatha, who was gripping on to the edge of the table to regain her balance.

"I wanted a young one. Which part of this wench strikes you as young?" Castor seized a handful of Agatha's hair and pulled her head backwards, sniffing her exposed neck. Agatha ground her jaw and tried to breathe methodically through her nose. She did not want to lose control of herself here. A rough, eager hand surged forward and fondled one of her breasts through the fabric of her simple cotton dress, then squeezed it indecently. Castor raised his head and leered at Agatha, revealing tobacco spotted teeth. "Her parts are still perky, though. How old are you, wench?"

There was a chorus of muffled laughter from across the table at her plight. Someone cackled lewdly, "not too old for me, Castor. I'll make ya a deal for that one."

Castor shook her by her hair. "I asked you a question, wench. How old are you?"

"Twenty nine," Agatha lied, not daring to go any higher and praying that the men were drunk enough to believe her. "And widowed," she added for their benefit.

Castor released the pull on her hair so that she could look in front of her. There were seven men sitting around the table. Lyon Rhynster appeared to be the most respectably dressed out of them, though it appeared that Castor, a mountain of a man with sunken eyes, a thick beard and tobacco spotted teeth held a position of leadership amongst them.

"A'ight, Rhyster," Castor drawled, leaving Agatha's hair and circling his arm around her waist, "price has dropped. Thirty gold pieces for the widowed maid. Take it or leave."

"I'll give you sixty, Lyon," the man across the table piped up, the one who had offered to take her minutes earlier. Lyon vacillated between the two men, undecided. Another man leant forward on the table, "How about we pay twenty each and share? Boys, she ain't half bad, being widowed and all is I'm sayin'. There's a chamber behind the gambling house, we could do whatever we want. No one's gonna come lookin' for a widow if you get my meaning."

Agatha regretted her lie immediately. The day had been a long one for her, with tending to an unceasing outpouring of wounded soldiers from the battlefield in Luteri and an equally persistent stream of complaints of cold and cough from younglings, now that the season was changing. And thus, in that moment, the exhaustion of the day caught up with Agatha and her nerves failed her. She gathered her skirt up in her fists, kicked back her chair and ran. Castor, who had not been prepared for the escape, let his hands slip from around her waist. It took the men a few seconds to understand that their entertainment for the evening was running away, another few to get to their feet and start chasing her. Agatha ran through the same set of double doors she had come through and down the dingy hallway, and straight into another chamber that turned out to be the tavern associated with the gambling house. Agatha slid under a pinewood table and scrambled out of the other side, then slipped behind the wine barrels stacked at one corner of the dark room. She breathed heavily, peeking from behind the barrels. Unfortunately, she had attracted quite a bit of attention, careening into the chamber like a madwoman on the run, and as soon as her pursuers entered the tavern, multiple bystanders pointed out her hiding place to the men. Agatha cursed silently, and decided to hex the men into vegetables as soon as they took her to the private chamber they had mentioned earlier.

"Come out, come out, little widow," Castor taunted as he made his way through the barrels littering the rough hewn wooden floor. Agatha waited until he was close enough, then rose out of her hiding place and elbowed Castor in the face. Taking advantage of his momentary preoccupation, Agatha lunged for the knife sheathed in his belt and plunged it into his torso right upto the hilt and twisted it for added effect. Ignoring his guttural cry of anguish, she slid past him and scrambled towards the center of the tavern, intending to run into the street this time. She was so intent on her escape that she did not notice the feet stretched out in her way, intended to trip her. Agatha sprawled down on the floor and bit dirt, finally letting loose a lovely stream of expletives that would have put sailors to shame. Someone hauled her up to standing by her hair and another tugged at her dress, ripping it cleanly down the back.

"She's got quite a bit o' fight in 'er," the third man, the one who had offered to pay sixty for her, sniggered. A groping, indecent hand tugged futilely at her breast band, trying to unwrap it from her torso, but did not succeed. Agatha lashed out again with her elbow, connecting with soft flesh, but both of her arms were seized immediately and pinned to her back. The fourth man, the one who had suggested that they share, surged forward and landed a glancing blow to the side of her face. Men sitting around in the tavern gaped at the scene unfolding in front of them, but none came forward to help. The tavern wenches were huddled together in one corner, staring at her with sympathy and fear, but they did not speak out either.

"Walk, girl," the same man pushed her towards the door while Lyon Rhynster stood by.

"Enough." A deep voice spoke out from a corner table behind them. Agatha twisted as much as her restricted posture would allow and spotted the owner of the voice, a towering, broad man wearing a cloak, with the hood pulled over his face so that his eyes were hidden in darkness. From whatever Agatha could make out of his face, he had a strong jawline barely softened by a smattering of a dark stubble. The stranger walked up to them and lowered his hood. The effect was immediate. Every single living being in the tavern sank to their knees, with reverent murmurs along the lines of "General", "Your Honor," and "Azure Rider." Agatha, shocked by the relief surging in her, soon realised that she and the stranger were the only ones standing. Quickly, gracelessly, she sank down to her knees, but she couldn't help peeking through her lashes at him. She had heard all about the Azure Rider ever since she was a child, about how he was virtually invincible, about how he had assumed the mantle of the General of the Army ever since the King's Egbert's brother and the previous General, Elrond had been murdered by Vandan assassins, and she had seen the dragon fly across the sky multiple times, often so high that he was a mere speck, but she had never met the Rider up close. Legends said that he was over a hundred years old, and naturally, in her mind, Agatha had expected that the Azure Rider would be a wizened old man with blue scales for skin, but the man standing in front of them looked distinctly young, no older than thirty, with wavy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes came to rest on Agatha and she shivered involuntarily-- his eyes were an eerie shade of blue and was as cold as two chunks of ice. Perhaps, it was fitting that his dragon, covered in deep azure scales, was named as Ice. It was an unimaginative name, Agatha had always thought, but now, looking at the Rider, she could make sense of where the name had come from.

"At ease," the General said with the easy grace of a man who was accustomed to ordering people about, and the humans in the tavern rose collectively, heaving a sigh of relief. No doubt, they had heard the stories of the Azure Rider's temper, just as much as she had.

"Rhynster." The Rider spoke quietly, but there was an uncanny chill in his voice that stopped the nobleman's son dead in his tracks. "I remember you cited your scholarly pursuits as the reason for not enlisting," he continued. "Now that I have seen the ardency of your pursuits, I am afraid I'll have to insist that you join in on the training as early as tomorrow. Sir Blaxton is in need of a page."

Agatha stifled a giggle as she turned to leave. Forcing a fully grown man to serve as a page was the ultimate insult in their kingdom, one that no one except the General would have dared to carry out against Nobleman Rhynster's son. Feeling decidedly happy about the turn of the events, Agatha tugged her split dress together to cover her bare back and began walking towards the door.

"Wait."

Agatha turned towards the General and froze. He was looking directly at her. She curtsied clumsily, still trying to hold her dress together, and said, "Your Honor."

The General crossed the gap between them in two strides. Barely stopping when he came in front of Agatha, he said curtly, "follow me," then headed out of the tavern. Agatha scrambled to follow, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.

The Rider did not speak all the way down to the street. He pulled on his hood as they walked out into the cobbled street. Agatha thought it was strange that the Rider was travelling without a horse, but then she realized that he must have craved some anonymity and solitude to sit alone in an unnamed tavern with his face covered, and it made sense that he would have kept his horse tied up at an inconspicuous place. The General was quite tall and had a long stride, and Agatha did all she could to not pant like an obese dog as she jogged after him, struggling to hold her tattered dress together on her body. The streets were filled with inebriated men polishing off their coffers on wine and women, and Agatha cursed Lyla silently for getting pregnant so often. None of this would have happened had she stayed in the Keep, and by now, she would have been curled up in bed, dreaming wistfully, as she always did, of Siegel.

Agatha had been a student of the Academy of Magical Sciences in the city of Rubenstraad before she came to stay at the Keep as an apprentice to Meister Erwan. Siegel had been the Head Scholar's son at the Academy, specializing in wards and sigils, just as Agatha had specialized in herbs and potions. Siegel's magical abilities far surpassed her own, and over the years, between covering each other's backs and sitting on a mutual secret, she had grown to harbor affection for him. Towards the end of her stay at the Academy, she had often permitted him entry to her bedchamber, and they had spent a lovely year together, fooling around and romancing, before the apprenticeship took Agatha away. That was nearly a year ago, and since then, Agatha had stayed at the Castle Keep with Meister Erwan and the remaining court scholars and their apprentices. Agatha was twenty five now, nearly an old maid by societal standards, but her heart bled for her old love with the ardour of a young maiden.

The Rider led her to a row of stables a few blocks away from the Central Market. The streets were quieter here, with the occasional homeless person stirring under their blankets by the uncovered sewers that ran along the side of the street. Few Night Guards patrolled the area, and Agatha wondered why that was so. Weren't they supposed to be on constant vigil for the Creatures of the Dark?

"Can you ride?" The question came to her abruptly. Agatha glanced up towards the Rider and realized that he had taken off his hood.

"I... yes," Agatha fumbled, once again feeling unsettled by his eerily cold eyes. Belatedly, she wondered why the Rider had insisted that she accompany him. She snuck a look at her companion as he led her into the stables. In the dim light of the flickering lamps that lined the cobbled streets, the Azure Rider looked like any other young soldier returning from the uprising in Luteri. His features were handsome, with an aquiline nose and full lips, but his ice-blue eyes betrayed his true age. The Rider stopped in front of a stall and led out a snow white stallion by the reins.

"Mount him," the Rider stepped back, allowing her full access to the saddle. Agatha hesitated, painfully aware of her ripped dress and unable to make any movement that would compromise her modesty.

"I thought you said you could ride." A steel arm gripped her torso and hoisted her up on the saddle like a rag doll, and before Agatha could blink, she was sitting in front of the General with her exposed back plastered against his robe.

"One leg on each side, please," the Rider said courteously, but Agatha was beginning to suspect that he was enjoying her discomfort. She complied, squirming on the seat to cover up her back by pulling the ripped ends together with one hand. However, she soon abandoned that attempt and clutched the Rider's arm, because the white stallion broke into a run. She swore that the Rider laughed.

"What's your name?" he asked as they rode through the deserted streets that were, once again, conspicuously devoid of any Night Guards. The Rider guided the horse through a route that avoided the Central Market.

"Agatha." She paused a while and then lended voice to the panic that was clawing its way up her throat. "What do you want with me?"

"Where do you live?" The Azure Rider disregarded her question.

"At the Castle Keep. I'm an apprentice to Meister Erwan," she volunteered some extra information, just in case it helped change his mind if he had planned to behead her for taking Castor's life. Surely he wouldn't execute the person responsible for bringing half of his soldiers back to life, especially not when she had clearly acted in self-defense?

"Well, Agatha, I have some questions for you, and then you will be returned to the Castle Keep. Unharmed."

Agatha relaxed the stiff grip on the Rider's arm and exhaled in relief. She wasn't going to die tonight.

"Thank you, General," she said in a small voice.

"You may call me Orion," he said.

***

The Rider brought her into the Azure Tower, the place that everyone knew had been designated for him and his Dragon for the last century-and-a-half. Agatha had walked past the Azure tower on a daily basis to tend to her tiny herb garden at the back of the Castle grounds. She had never paused to think about the tower, or how the interiors would look until today. The base of the Tower consisted of an expansive hall designed for welcoming visitors, with an additional stable and a scullery by the side and the rear. Men in mail stood sentry in front of the outer iron portcullis and bowed to them as Orion's horse rode past. The horse stopped in front of the wooden doors that led inside the Tower, and Orion disembarked swiftly, this time keeping a tight grip on Agatha, so that she was forced to get down with him. Agatha was nearly five feet seven, and hours of splitting logs and turning earth for her herb garden had robbed her of the frailty that was seen as a sign of prosperity and beauty amongst the court ladies. Naturally, being tossed around like a rag doll was both a novel and a humiliating experience for her. Once she stood on level ground, she realised with dawning dismay that the top of her head lined up with Orion's chest. It was a relief that he had promised not to hurt her, because she wouldn't know how to protect herself if he intended to. She could always curse him, she thought with some satisfaction.

Orion handed the reins of the horse to a page waiting nearby. The wooden doors swung inwards with a creak and two sentries lowered their staffs and bowed to Orion in salute. Orion walked in with the easy grace of a man returning home and beckoned Agatha to follow with his hand. He unclasped the cloak from around his neck and flung it on top of a rack and made his way up the sweeping staircase on the side of the visitor's hall. Agatha hesitated for a moment, but Orion turned around halfway through his ascent and said, "Come." Agatha scrambled to follow him.

Orion took the stairs three at a time and walked up to a man emerging out of a room by the first landing.

"Get the lady something to wear, Jonathan," he said and passed by him on the next flight of stairs. Agatha shot a curious look at this Jonathan, a portly old man with powder-white hair and a swarthy, kind face. At a glance he appeared to be a retainer or a valet, but Ava could not be too sure. Jonathan bowed to her stiffly, but the depth of his bow seemed to be restricted by a bad back and not by his lack of camaraderie towards the strange woman following his master to his bedchamber. Agatha curtsied back in response and smiled uncertainly at him, then realized that Orion was, once again, waiting for her in the middle of the next flight of stairs. A strange dread curled into the pit of her stomach as she turned to follow him again. Why did the Rider need to question her in the privacy of his bedchamber? Why couldn't it be done in the visitor's hall? Agatha was not stupid, and though she had heard no stories from the women in the harem about any possible fetishes of the Azure Rider, Agatha felt distinctly discomfited about being alone with a man who was easily twice her size, at this hour of the evening. Now that she came to think about it, she had not heard a single mention about the Rider from the women in the Harem. Thanks to her frequent visits and thanks to the rampant gossip that traveled faster than pigeons inside the castle, she had learnt all about the sexual preferences and fixations of nearly all the noblemen in the court. Lyon Rhynster liked to tie his women to the headboard while he fucked them. His elder brother, the one who was not married, liked to whip them using his belt. The elder brother who was married liked biting until he drew blood. Violence ran in the Rhynster family, and Agatha received frequent missives from the Harem to clear up the wounds on their victims the day after. The Rhynster family were mere puppies compared to some of the other Royals, though. The worst that Agatha had had to attend to last year were a couple of broken ribs, a split lip and a multitude of bruises and cuts, all on Lyla, after Lord Mannering's youngest son, Archibald had been finished with her. Agatha had had to put the girl into sleep for two days afterwards to spare her from the worst of the pain. On the other side of those horror stories were the funny ones. King Egbert did not last longer than a minute. Prince Ethan Maximus, the late Prince Elrond's oldest son, had a tiny member. Cassius Mannering, Lord Mannering's brother, could not get it up on most days.