Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 7 - PRINCE NATHAN

   "It is Drake, your Honor," he finally replied.

"You paused before you gave me your family name," Prince Nathan observed in his calm quiet voice, "We're you lying to me? Or did you merely not wish for me to know?"

Matt's heart sank, lying to the royal family was a surefire way to wind up executed. "No, Your Excellence, I just recently found out that the man I believed to be my father was not actually my real father, so I did not know what to call myself. Drake was the last name of the man who raised me." Matt explained hurriedly, the words tumbling from his mouth in rapid succession. He prayed his explanation would be sufficient enough to appease Prince Nathan.

  The Prince sat in silence for a long moment, observing Matt's face as if he could perceive his character as easily as a man could read a book before turning to his captain. "Leave us," he ordered in his steady voice. The captain opened his mouth to respond but the prince cut him off with a raised hand. "He poses no danger to me." The Captain gave a hard look at Matt, silently conveying what he would do to him if he attempted anything while he was not around, then bowed to the Prince and walked out of the carriage.

   He's right, I could no more best him than I could a dragon, even if I wished too, Matt thought dryly. As a noble, the prince was certainly a Stormcrier, with years more experience and almost certainly more power than Matt could hope to conjure. His whole life he had been told that the High King was the most powerful stormcrier in all of Verden, his son would have inherited much of that strength, as well as had access to the best training in the world. Matt, in comparison, had still been unsuccessful in summoning as much as a spark.

   "I thought it would be easier for you to relate your tale if there were not an extra pair of ears listening in. It is usually easier to talk of the past when there isn't a crowd hanging on every word," the prince began as soon as the captain had closed the door behind himself. "I would like to know what has befallen you. I pride myself as a reader of people and I have a feeling that you have quite the story to tell."

   Is the prince going to even believe my story? Would he care to help me? Matt wondered. He's part of the royal family. With no time to piece together a convincing lie, he was in no position to do anything more than tell the truth to his captor. In a more positive thought, even if the royal family was said to be cruel masters of the land, they and the other nobility could very well be the only people in Verden who could possibly stand against the dragons. It was vital to the safety of all the common people for the nobility to learn of the dragons' return as soon as possible.

   Steeling himself, Matt took a deep breath before launching into his entire story, beginning with the day that he, Andrew, and Mark had taken the grain to the market. He began his story slowly, forcing himself to relive the painful memories of that terrible day as he tried to convey the terrifying, bone-chilling feeling of being watched and hunted that had permeated his very existence for that entire, awful day. The more he spoke the easier the words came, unleashed in a rushing river of speech that once he had begun, he could not bring himself to stop. Leaving out the silver pendant that Vincent had presented Andrew, which was at this very moment hidden beneath the collar of his shirt, Matt recounted how his adopted father had returned to the inn flustered and panicked, and their race against the dragon back to their farmhouse where his entire family had lost their lives in the ensuing combat. He relayed Vincent's revelations about his family, his subsequent flight from his farm, and his discovery of the purple dragon returning to life in the depths of the forest. As he had with the pendant, Matt chose to leave out mention of the sapphire dagger's existence. He had no reason to keep the dagger a secret, he had not been sworn to secrecy on the subject as Andrew had demanded he and Mark keep the pendant, but a soft voice in the back of his head curled its way into the periphery of his senses, telling him that he should not breathe a word about the mysterious weapon.