Author's Note: This story was inspired after I read Arturo Pérez-Reverte's beautiful book "The Fencing Master".

As always, I dedicate it to my muse, 815 BrokenPencils. Without her encouragement and the clever comments we exchange, I would never have started writing.

The prologue of this story unfolds a few days after the death of Morzan and Selena, in the well-guarded castle of the dragon rider.

Prologue

"To arms! To arms! A mounted guard approaches the castle!" The loud voice of the sentinel from the high watchtower suddenly echoed, drowning out all other noises in the courtyard and giving the alarm to the soldiers of the isolated castle. Those who were on duty at that moment hurried up the walls, while the rest hastily armed themselves in the armory, helping each other don heavy steel breastplates and grabbing helmets, swords, spears, bows, and quivers filled with iron-headed arrows from the racks.

Despite their haste, everyone knew that immediate danger to them or the castle being taken was impossible. The iron portcullis was always down, and the strong gates were permanently barred, guarded by magic to open only on the rare occasions when the dragon-lord's retinue or the lady came and went from the castle. However, the lord had been absent for a long time, and no news of him had been heard in recent months.

As for the lady... it had only been two weeks since she returned to the castle, ill, after a prolonged absence, to breathe her last three days ago. The woman had been buried within the walls—since no one could pass outside them without the lord's presence—with all the honors befitting her.

In the garden, there was a corner—her favorite spot—where she loved to spend her hours during the few times she visited the place. Hidden behind the pavilion and the rose beds, among the myrtle bushes and the babbling spring, which flowed into the basin. It was there that the people of the castle decided her grave should be dug so she could spend her eternal hours there, as she did when she was alive. Her body would remain there unless the lord decided otherwise. For now, her little child, the servants, and the guards awaited, as they were obliged to, the return of their lord and master for new instructions.

The watchman's call and the guards' commotion had disturbed the castle's inhabitants. Cooks and servants, maids and nannies, blacksmiths, apprentices, and all the attendants roamed the corridors and back courtyard, shouting in confusion. The personal guard of the child, Tornac, hurried across the outer cobbled courtyard of the castle, ascending swiftly the stairs of the guard tower. From this vantage point atop the walls, he would have a clear view of the surrounding area and the men approaching on horseback. Two more soldiers followed closely behind him.

"It's not a large group," said one of them, squinting his eyes, trying to make out the figures against the bright midday sun. "Only a dozen men, I'd say." The man sighed with relief. After all, twelve men they could handle before they even got close. The castle's defenders were more numerous.

"One more officer and... two civilians," added the second. "A total of fifteen. But the lord is not among them." Everyone knew that when their lord returned to the castle, he usually arrived flying on his terrible red dragon. The guards would rather face two hundred armed men than the wrath of that beast.

"They're wearing the breastplates of the royal guard, I think," said Tornac, trying to make out the emblem on the banner held by the standard-bearer as the strong wind whipped its tongues around the pole. Yes, he could swear he saw, for a moment, the twisted red flame surrounded by a golden decorative border—the king's symbol.

"In any case, they won't manage to enter the castle," declared the first soldier confidently. "The spells guarding the walls..."

"To your positions, everyone!" barked the guard officer, seeing the men were slow to man the walls. Some were running back and forth in the courtyard, while others were still in the armory. "You two, quickly, reinforce the walkway above the gates," he shouted at the two soldiers. "As for you, back to the chambers. Guard your young master," he snapped at Tornac.

"I had to find out who they are," the young swordsman justified himself. "If they are not enemies but men of our king, the young master has nothing to fear." Nevertheless, he hurried to leave the guard tower, descend back into the courtyard, and from there into the main house. The officer was a rough brute. Now that the lord was absent and the lady was gone, Tornac did not want to get on his bad side. Besides, the young master, already upset by his mother's death, would have been frightened. Tornac wanted to find him and reassure him with a gentle word.

Meanwhile, the castle guard officer ascended above the sealed gate to the portcullis tower. The horsemen had drawn near. Leading them was a fully armored officer, followed by his second. On the flag that the second man held, the symbol of Galbatorix was now clearly visible. The officer snorted in annoyance. His lord, Morzan, had been absent for months. What could the king's guards want here? Were they bringing news of him or new orders? The officer stepped out of the portcullis booth and stood on the walls but did not give the order to cancel the attack alarm. Galbatorix's guards must have been in a mad rush to arrive. They had covered such a distance, from the lakeside path to the castle's base, in little time, pushing their horses to gallop frantically. Their hooves raised clouds of dust and their nostrils foamed. The two civilians who came among them, judging by their clothes, appeared to be magicians.

"Who goes there?" the officer shouted angrily from above the gates to the men who had stopped their horses before the sealed castle doors. No answer was given. Instead, the two magicians dismounted, came forward, and began chanting unknown, magical words, dispelling the protective enchantments of the lord. Their leader and his men stood aside, waiting. Their faces were not visible through their lowered visors; the glare from their steel breastplates blinded under the midday light.

It took many hours for the two magicians to break Morzan's spells. When they finished and stood aside, nearly breathless, their leader, still on his horse, stepped forward and, with a thunderous voice, in the name of their king, demanded the guards lift the portcullis and open the gates. Their lord, Morzan, was, they said, dead, and the king decreed they all come under his command and return to the capital. He was here to ensure the safety of their young master and escort him to Urû'baen.

The castle's guard officer had no choice but to comply with the order.

.*.*.*.

"Dress him warmly, nanny. The nights are still cold out there." Despite the new orders and the newly formed situation, Tornac continued to care for his young master. Nothing and no one would make him abandon this boy or move away from his side, something he made clear to Galbatorix's officer from the very first moment. The man silently accepted it. Tornac had been well-known from a young age in the king's court for his exceptional swordsmanship skills. Despite his youth, it would be hard to find someone who could surpass him. The officer was in a hurry to carry out his orders and did not want any trouble.

It was Tornac himself who broke the news to the child that his lord father was also dead. The boy received the news silently. For three days, since his mother's burial, he had cried until his small body was drained of all the tears he could shed. The knowledge that Morzan and his terrible beast would never return to hurt or terrorize him likely comforted him rather than saddened him.

"I don't want to leave, Tornac," the child protested as the nanny tugged at him to get him dressed while he resisted. "Why can't we stay here at the castle? Even if we're alone…"

Tornac glared at the woman, frowning. She had always been rough with the boy, and now, knowing that the lady and the lord were dead and that there would be no punishment, she had become even bolder.

"What you ask cannot be, young master, I'm sorry," the young man replied with a sad smile. "The king commands that you go to Urû'baen, and we are to lead you there. When the king commands, everyone obeys."

The boy looked distressed. The sorrowful events he had endured in recent weeks with his mother's illness and death had weakened him. His chin seemed more angular than usual, his cheekbones stood out, and dark circles marked the skin beneath his eyes. His nerves were shattered, and he would cry or shout at the slightest thing.

"And the memorial for my mother? You promised we would build a monument over her grave." His steely gaze fixed on the swordsman's face, desperate anger beginning to stir within him.

Tornac pressed his lips together.

"I'm sorry, young master, but that is no longer possible. The men are in a hurry to leave, to return to the capital. Those are their orders. The fact that the king sent his personal guards to bring you to him is a great honor. You must not keep him waiting."

The boy stomped his foot angrily on the floor, his emotions a tangled mess from the recent turmoil. The sorrowful events he had endured in recent weeks with his mother's illness and death had already weakened him, leaving him raw and vulnerable. The arrival of the soldiers and the sudden upheaval had unsettled him further. It pained him that Tornac could not keep his promise, but there was nothing he could do to change the situation, and that frustrated him.

His anger, which had simmered silently since his mother's death, now turned against the nanny, who hurt him as she roughly forced his thin arm into the sleeve. He kicked her and then bit her hand. The woman cried out angrily and cursed, but the boy kicked her again, his frustration and helplessness pouring out in fierce bursts.

Tornac gently took the woman by the arm and led her out of the room. She could oversee the rapid preparations for their journey while he dressed their young master.

"You're not acting correctly, young master," he scolded gently as he helped him slip his arm into the thick sleeve. "Those who serve you may be lower in rank than you, but a noble's courtesy is judged not by how he deals with his superiors—where he must necessarily submit—but by how he treats his inferiors. Learn to be patient with them."

"I'm sleepy," the child complained, now resigned to Tornac's care, his eyes welling up with tears, ready to spill down his cheeks.

"You'll rest in the carriage."

Galbatorix's men were in a hurry to set off before dusk, to cover some distance by traveling all night and the next day. The boy, along with one of the nannies and his luggage, would travel in Selena's old carriage. The servants, after securing the castle, would follow the guard in carts. This entire procession would inevitably slow down Galbatorix's soldiers, who planned not to stop until they reached Dras-Leona.

.*.*.*.

The entire coming day was exhausting for everyone. Only the boy and the woman accompanying him managed to steal some sleep in the carriage. Tornac kept his horse trotting beside them, his hawk-like gaze missing nothing and no one. He did not like the way Galbatorix's guards moved around his young master. From the very first hour, they had pushed aside all the soldiers sworn to Morzan, keeping Tornac himself at the side as if he were more a prisoner than a companion of his lord. The two times they stopped by the side of the road for the child's needs, they had discreetly tried to remove him, but Tornac was adamant. His demeanor clearly showed he was ready to fight, letting his sword do the talking instead of words. The officer signaled his men to leave him alone, a gesture that did not escape Tornac's notice.

From that moment on, he watched everything closely, even keeping an eye on what was happening behind his back. Something was not right; his instincts had warned him from the very beginning. Tornac had not earned his reputation as a swordsman by ignoring those instincts. He quickly realized that Morzan's child seemed more like a young prisoner of Galbatorix's guards rather than a lord being escorted.

By dusk the following day, the group had passed outside the walls of Dras-Leona and settled in an inn on the public road. The boy and his nanny were given the large room on the upper floor, while Tornac arranged to sleep in the anteroom near their door. The swordsman's suspicions were further heightened when the officer of the guards refused to let the boy come down to dine in the common hall of the inn, citing safety reasons. So, the boy remained with his nanny in the room, grumbling all the time.

"I want to see the soldiers, why don't they let me?" The boy was clearly exhausted and hungry, and the liveliness in his eyes was more irritation caused by his anxiety than a desire to mingle with the soldiers. Tornac had laughed, comforting him.

"You are going to Urû'baen, little lord. There you will see more soldiers than you can imagine. Be patient."

"I'm hungry!"

"I'll bring you food from the kitchens myself, for you and your nanny."

"Will you dine with us too, Tornac?" A big smile comforted the boy for the strict supervision and the officer's refusal to let him go down to the large hall on the ground floor.

"If your grace permits, it will be my great honor," the young man replied.

The boy hurried to get ready for their small dinner while Tornac rushed to the kitchens. He intended to personally supervise the preparation of his lord's food tray. The behavior of Galbatorix's guards had seemed suspicious to him the previous day. He understood that his suspicion might be excessive, fearing that a murderous hand might secretly add a bit of poison to the young master's food, but nobody ever lost by being cautious. Tornac had learned this well during his time serving in Urû'baen under Morzan's orders.

He now stood beside the cooks' counter, who were bustling to serve so many men, but Tornac made it clear that his lord's tray took precedence. The innkeeper himself filled three bowls with the stew and stocked the tray with slices of bread, napkins, and spoons. Tornac lifted the heavy tray, exited through the back hallway, and just as he was about to head for the stairs to go up to his master's room, his ear caught murmurs from the gruff voice of the castle guard's officer, who was descending with someone; their heavy footsteps made the wooden stairs creak.

"…and you say, he will be a prisoner?"

Tornac paused to listen further. Outside the inn's kitchen, there was a side door that apparently led to some storage room. He hid behind this door and even held his breath.

"Prisoner... that's a very strong word," replied the voice of the royal guards' officer. "More like an overprotected ward, if you will..." The two men had now descended the stairs and paused in front of the side door. "His Majesty has reasons to believe that since Morzan had so many enemies who managed to kill him, the child is in double and triple danger. It is better for him to always stay under surveillance."

"It's the same thing," the two men now passed by, heading towards the common room of the inn. "If he can never move freely... won't he be a prisoner?"

The other voice laughed maliciously. "If the prison is a golden cage... He will still be under the care and supervision of our king, who intends to..." A door creaked open and closed, and the voices were lost in the din of the common room.

Tornac was unable to hear more, but what he had managed to hear did not please him. The life the king was preparing for his little lord would be none other than that of a hostage. His instincts—those of a warrior who defends himself against even the most unexpected enemy—had rightly warned him that the whole situation looked bad. The heart of the young swordsman tightened with sorrow. This boy, condemned already to live his entire life locked away in a remote castle, grievously wounded, and orphaned in a few days from both mother and father, would now be imprisoned again. Perhaps the king would take care of him, educate him according to his rank... But he had plans for him, plans that Tornac had unfortunately not managed to hear. "Golden prison," the guard officer had mocked. The man must have heard something about the king's plans while he was in Urû'baen.

Tornac took a few deep breaths. "Let's leave, Tornac, from here. Take me with you, and let's leave for the outside world." This was what the boy had asked him once, and those plaintive words now crossed his mind, piercing his heart like a knife. The young guard bit his lips in despair. His young lord deserved a better fate than the one awaiting him. He exited the storage room carrying the tray of food that was growing cold, and instead of climbing the stairs to the upper floor, he returned to the inn's kitchen.

"Add a jug of wine and three cups to my lord's tray," he ordered the kitchen boy.

The boy looked at him curiously. Precious few had seen the little child when the guards had brought him up to the upper room, and the kitchen boy had happened to be one of them. Now he wondered if the young lord would drink that much wine, but it was not his place to comment. So he did as he was told and quickly returned to his other chores.

Tornac brought the tray to his master's room.

.*.*.*.

The middle of the night had come and gone. Tornac carefully sat up on his bedding, trying not to make the slightest noise. Throughout the previous hours, he had not slept for a moment, keeping his senses alert to the noises of the inn. The men had eaten early in the main hall on the ground floor, and their officer had expressly forbidden them to drink even a drop of wine. When everyone had finished and the voices and laughter had ceased, some had pushed the tables to the sides and laid down in the middle to sleep, while others took up guard duty. This did not surprise Tornac, as it was something natural that he had expected. However, the number of those appointed as guards seemed large. One of them had even taken up position at the base of the stairs, guarding the upper room where the child and his nanny would sleep – the other servants of the castle had surely settled either in the courtyard or the stables.

"Go get some sleep too," Tornac urged this guard. "I will watch over the young lord." But the guard did not respond at all, ignoring him, which made Tornac wonder if he was not guarding the young lord from some danger but rather watching him instead.

Tornac now carefully stood up and moved slowly, not wanting to cause the wooden floor to creak. Darkness had spread since the lamps had been extinguished, making it difficult for the guard to detect any movement. If he did notice, Tornac had ready the excuse that he was checking to see if his master was resting. But in the deep darkness, the swordsman could distinguish the heavy breathing of a sleeping man. Apparently, the guard, without realizing it, had stolen some sleep, relaxed by the food and tired from the long journey.

Tornac slowly opened the door to the room where the nanny and the child were sleeping.

The previous evening during dinner, the three of them – the nanny, the boy, and Tornac – had dined together. Tornac made sure to tell stories from the capital to captivate the child's imagination and distract the woman, whom he often offered wine. Enthusiastically, she emptied one cup after another, not noticing that Tornac pretended to drink but merely touched the wine to his lips. Gradually, the topics of his conversation became spicier, including incidents from the taverns of the capital – veiled events that the child did not understand but that amused the woman. The wine helped her loosen up into uncontrollable giggles and laughter, and Tornac kept talking and offering more wine, and she kept drinking... until she became dizzy, and a heavy sleep overtook her where she sat on her couch.

Tornac had motioned to Murtagh not to speak and wake her. He had covered the woman, letting her sleep, then he had settled the child in his small bed. Exhausted as he was, the child closed his eyes immediately. Tornac had exited the room and laid down on his prepared bedding at the top of the stairs. However, he had not slept a moment.

Now he re-entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. The candle he had left burning on the table the previous night was now extinguished, having melted down. But from the drawn, cheap curtain of the window, a little moonlight came in, illuminating the pale face of the sleeping boy. The nanny snored on the comfortable couch, oblivious to the fact that someone had entered the room. Tornac carefully sat on the edge of the bed where the child slept and gently nudged him on the shoulder.

"Young master," he whispered as softly as he could and stroked his hair.

The child's eyes flew wide open, and he jumped up, startled. Despite his exhaustion, he seemed to be a light sleeper. The pain of losing his mother and the upheaval from everything he knew had unsettled him.

"Tornac!"

"Shhh, don't wake the nanny," the swordsman murmured close to his ear. He had wrapped his sword in his shirt the previous night to ensure that if it made contact with anything, it would not make the faintest metallic sound; now, he carefully placed it on his lap. "Young master, I think we need to leave secretly in the night."

The child looked at him, puzzled. A day earlier, he had been told to submit to the king's orders, and now... what did Tornac mean by these words?

"Where are they taking me, Tornac? Isn't it to the king in Urû'baen?"

Tornac silently nodded.

"To the king, but I think there it will be a new imprisonment for you." The child remained silent, looking at him. Perhaps he did not understand what these words meant. Tornac urged him to respond. If his young master preferred to go to Urû'baen, he was ready to follow him to the ends of the earth. "Do you remember, young master, once you asked me to travel together? To see other places and the whole world? If you still want something like that, this night is our only and last chance. Once they take us to the capital… it will be too late."

The child sprang up, excitement lighting up his eyes in the darkness. His hand quickly reached out to the swordsman and grabbed the edge of his jacket sleeve.

"Let's leave, Tornac! Let's travel the world, you and me!" His voice was filled with excitement, louder than it should have been. The sleeping woman groaned and shifted in her sleep. Tornac quickly covered the child's mouth with his hand, pointing simultaneously towards the bed where the nanny slept. The amount of wine she had consumed the previous night was substantial, and he didn't believe she would wake up easily. However, the guards might hear something.

"This means you'll have to leave everything you own behind; possessions, wealth, titles. We'll leave together with only the clothes on our backs." He gently removed his hand from the child's mouth. It was obvious the little one couldn't decide with reason but with his emotions. Tornac, however, wouldn't do anything without his consent.

"Take me with you, and let's leave," the child whispered, a wild joy coloring his face.

Tornac quietly helped him dress, then opened the window and leaned out to look. That officer of Galbatorix must have been very cunning or very suspicious, because in the courtyard of the inn, directly below the window, two of his guards were patrolling. Tornac quickly surveyed the surrounding area, noting the slope of the roof, and the wooden fence that separated the inn from the fields. The upper room overlooked the back of the inn, with no contact with the entrance, the stables, or the main road. In the distance, below the fence, he could make out a small vegetable garden.

Tornac knelt in front of the child, holding him by both shoulders.

"You'll climb onto my shoulders, young master, just like when I used to be your horse in the castle. Cling to me with your hands and feet, and no matter what happens, close your eyes and ears and don't make a sound."

The boy silently nodded his consent. Tornac helped him climb onto his shoulders and secure himself. Then he drew the dagger from his belt and bit the blade with his teeth. He fastened his sword, still wrapped in his shirt, to his left side. For what he planned to do, the sword would be a useless hindrance. If the metallic clang of the blade were heard, it could draw a crowd of guards from other posts. The dagger would be enough... quick and silent...

Tornac then climbed over the windowsill and stepped out onto the narrow ledge of the roof. He walked carefully and slowly towards the wider and lower part. He had previously noticed that the two guards did not stand close to each other but kept walking continuously to fight off sleepiness and the cold. The left guard headed a few steps towards the vegetable garden, while the right guard disappeared behind the corner of the house and then returned.

Tornac walked across the roof towards the vegetable garden. At the edge of the inn's left corner, the roof sloped down more to allow rainwater to drain off to the ground. With a calculated leap, Tornac landed softly on all fours. The small vine growing there muffled most of the noise; only a rustle could be heard. One guard had already turned the corner towards the stables, while the other, who was already close to the vegetable garden, quickly returned to see what had happened. Tornac didn't wait for him to sound the alarm. With a sudden movement, he sprang up; the dagger appeared in his hand and was thrust deep into the man's neck. The imperial guard groaned, and the sound of a choked breath could be heard. The child on Tornac's back buried his small face into his shoulder. His breath came out hissing from his lungs. His hands held on tighter than before, and his legs wrapped around Tornac's sides. Tornac felt the edge of the sword slightly cut into his body but was undeterred. The boy, despite this small display of insecurity, remained calm. He didn't scream or loosen his grip.

Tornac pulled the convulsing guard's body quickly behind the vine. Then he reassured the child with light pats on his leg. There was still the other guard. He walked closely along the wall with steps as light as he could manage. The heavy boots of the guard echoed, signaling his return from the cobblestone of the front courtyard. It wouldn't be long before he emerged from around the corner of the inn. Tornac prepared himself. As soon as the guard turned the corner, he grabbed him abruptly from behind, by the metal collar of his armor, and dragged the blade of his knife across the soft part of his neck. He pulled the lifeless body close to the wall, so it wouldn't be seen from the courtyard, and quickly headed towards the vegetable garden and the back fence of the inn. He had gained a few minutes before the other guards would become suspicious, as the dead guard's patrol had stopped.

He wouldn't risk going around to the stables to steal a horse. The stables would surely be guarded, and someone would see him and raise the alarm. He climbed over the fence with the child still clinging to his back, and they both disappeared into the shadows of the night like two ghosts.

No matter how much the soldiers searched for them in all the places around Dras-Leona in the following days, they couldn't find the slightest trace of them.