Ramaeka (The Ramaeka Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Hollair!” Ramaeka shouted the
customary greeting as he approached the cook.  “Oh great and noble Bakara I
have resigned as a warrior in training and have come to learn the noble art of
food preparation from your greatness.”

The cook snorted glancing him
over in amusement.

“And how long must we suffer your
presence this time little one?  I have feared your return since I heard your
sister screeching your name an hour or so ago.”

Ramaeka grinned at him. 

“Her screeches could be heard
from the other side of Amaria I’m sure, and only three weeks this time, it
could be worse.  And don’t call me little!”  He finished with his fiercest
scowl.

Rolling his eyes Bakara pointed
at several baskets of tubers waiting to be peeled.

“Work on those then youngling,
and do not dare go anywhere near the food being cooked, it is not just you who
will be punished if the sweet course has pepper in it again.”

Ducking his head sheepishly,
Ramaeka moved over to the baskets and sat down as the cook bustled away.  He
had genuinely thought that it was nutmeg, not pepper.

Really to be fair, being tall and
cooking were the only two things that he was bad at.  He was magically powerful
for his age and element, strong and fast for his size, and definitely a lot
smarter than most of his family.  He had even gone beyond the basic reading and
writing that his father allowed in his children’s schooling.  Of course that
was because he had broken into his father’s library in an attempt to find a
spell that would make him grow a little faster.  He had never found that spell,
but he had delved into several complicated and fascinating tomes that had
taught him spells, such as how to turn someone’s hair different colours, how to
change water into wine and how to call up fire.  He’d beaten several of his
larger and older siblings in fights on the training field as well, but still
there was no pleasing his father.  Ramanae wanted huge intimidating dragons for
his army; mindless followers who would instantly do anything that he
commanded.  Ramaeka, unfortunately, was not overly good at following orders
without asking why, a trait his father hated.

Bakara dismissed him once dinner
was finished; Ramaeka was allowed to eat in the kitchen rather than with the
family.  This was supposed to be a punishment but Ramaeka saw it more as a
reward since his family was so horrible anyway.  As he curled up in his
sleeping cave for the night, Ramaeka wished that something exciting would
happen soon, if only to keep him from expiring of boredom.  It was bad when he
got bored; ideas had a way of popping up in his mind that seemed good but
always seemed to get out of hand in application.

It seemed as if Rama the creator
had heard his wish when a mere two days later, as he once again spent his
morning before classes peeling his way through a mountain of tubers, his
musings were interrupted as his mother strode into the kitchen.  She glanced
sourly at him then continued past as if he wasn’t there.  He continued to slice
the skin off the tubers, too used to her attitude to care. 

“Bakara,” she screeched.  “Come
here this instance.” 

Bakara was already hurrying into
the cave from one of the smaller cooking chambers. 

“Lady?” he enquired.  “Is
something amiss?”

Ramaeka listened intently while
pretending to be completely absorbed in his task, when you were small and prone
to being picked on like he was, you picked up any information you could.  It
often proved useful in protecting himself from whichever of his siblings was in
a bad mood.

“Ramanae has just been informed
that the Conclave will be held here next week.  Empara Dragon Grean’s halls
were damaged in a storm and he is unable to hold the meeting there.” 

Ramaeka peeked up through his
brown fringe at his mother; she was pacing agitatedly back and forth.

“Only one week to get everything
ready!  And Ramanae is insisting that we have a proper banquet with fourteen
courses!  And he wants the entire place cleaned and perfect!” 

“My Lady, leave the cooking with
me, I will create a menu and then discuss it with you,” Bakara smiled down at
the near frantic dragon.  “After all you have so much to do getting everything
else organised.” 

“Of course that’s exactly what I
was going to tell you,” she snapped.  “I will expect the menu by tomorrow
morning.” 

With that she turned and stalked
out, muttering under her breath.

Ramaeka immediately looked up,
his heart pounding with excitement.

 “The Conclave Bakara!  All the
most powerful dragons are coming here!” he squeaked in excitement.

“Yes little one, it would seem
so,” the cook frowned.  “This is going to be a lot of work.”

Ramaeka ignored his comment,
almost bouncing as he went back to work on the tubers with refreshed vigour. 
The greatest of all dragons were coming here!  To his home!  To discuss matters
important to all of Amaria!  He desperately wished that he could watch the
meeting.  Hearing the wisdom of the great dragons was something many dragons
longed for though most never had the chance to attend such a meeting. 

He dropped a tuber and frowned,
why couldn’t he listen in on the meeting?   If his father was anything to go by
the other Empara’s wouldn’t even consider the idea that a scrawny little dragon
might be hidden in the room.  They would be on the watch for the adolescent
dragons who were nosier than they should be.  He just needed to find a good
small hiding space so he could listen in on the proceedings.  Picking up the
escaped tuber, he gazed thoughtfully over the steamy kitchen, the smell of
cooking food almost overwhelming his sensitive nose.    Absently he watched the
steam rise, he couldn’t hide under the table, he would be seen instantly.  The
draperies hanging on the walls of the main hall were an option, but the
slightest movement would attract the attention of one of the dragons, plus he
would be close to the table and they could easily pick up his scent.  He
sighed, it would be near impossible to hide in the hall, even if he found and
cast some kind of concealing spell, his magic would probably be detected by the
more powerful dragons.  This was something he would have to think about.

He was still musing over
possibilities half an hour later when Bakara nudged him with his foot.

“Classes,” he reminded Ramaeka
before waving a kitchen hand over to start hauling away the tubers. 

Ramaeka thanked Bakara profusely
before rushing out of the kitchens.  Being late for class was a really bad idea
and not just because he hated missing out on learning something new.  Panting
he fell in behind the last of his classmates who were trailing into the
classroom.

Good he’d made it on time, and it
was magic class, his favourite.  He hurried to the last spare seat at the
front, expertly dodging both the small objects thrown at him and the legs
thrust out to trip him.

“Settle down.”

Teacher Garain strode into the
room, quelling her pupils with a single look.  Ramaeka had never understood why
Garain had chosen to teach in Ramanae’s Spineback mountain territory.  She was
a short, stocky magic dragon from a hot region of Amaria with long rolling
plains covered with grasses as high as a Kainge dragon’s knee.  To voluntarily
teach in the cold, stark mountains seemed like a torturous decision to Ramaeka.

“Llessur, summarise what we
learnt last lesson please.”

Ramaeka grinned twitching in his
seat as he realised that Garain wasn’t carrying any books or papers.  That
could only mean one thing, today would be a practical lesson.  Next to him
Llessur lounged apathetically in his seat, sighing as he deigned to answer.

“We went over how to
theoretically use fire spells by throwing them at our enemies.”

Llessur was the son of two of
Ramanae’s supporters who worked in his territory.  While his mother was a stone
dragon, Llessur and his father were two of the few fire dragons to reside on
Ramanae’s lands.  Personally Ramaeka had never noticed any kind of spark in
Llessur.

“Sit up straight when you speak
child or I will find a way to keep your attention,” Garain growled softly.

Llessur sat up straight, covering
a fake yawn with one hand.

“Since it seems that Llessur
needs to be woken up,” Garain paused, her gaze lingering wickedly on the young
fire dragon.  “I suggest you all put away your things and follow me to the big
hall.”

Whispering excitedly, the class put
their writing tools away and rushed after Garain as she swept down the
hallway.  Ramaeka was just as excited as the rest, but he made sure to walk at
the very back where nobody would pay attention to him.

As they entered the training room
known as the big hall, Garain imperiously waved the students into a line.

“Now let’s see if you can use the
theory in a practical setting.  You all know how to summon fire.  Last week we
explored the idea of using that fire as a weapon in both long and short range
combat.  Alright let’s see if you retained anything I taught.”

She looked them over.

“Llessur, why don’t you go
first?”

As Llessur stepped forward
frowning, Garain summoned a chair with a flick of her wrist.  She lounged back
on it and gave Llessur a sardonic smile.  Ramaeka bit his lip to hide his grin
and focused on the targets set several lengths out.  They were shaped like
small wavaki, much like a dragon but slimmer and sinewy with double rows of
jagged teeth, red claws and a blue sail running down their spine.  They lacked
the bladed tail of a dragon, and of course had no lesser form.

Llessur, with a smirk, brought
forth a handful of fire with ease.  Being a fire dragon he was particularly
good with this spell.  He pulled back his arm and threw the fire which dropped
barely halfway to the target.  Scowling he summoned another fistful and threw
it harder.  Ramaeka watched with interest as the fire slapped to the ground
still lengths away.

“Would anyone else like to try?”
Garain asked mildly as Llessur stepped back red faced.

The other students shuffled their
feet, avoiding her fierce brown eyes.  If Llessur, a fire dragon, couldn’t do
it then how would they do any better?  Garain sighed, pinching the bridge of
her nose.

“Do any of you listen to me in
class?  Does anybody remember what I said about using the spell over a
distance?”

Rolling her eyes at their blank faces
she stood up.

“Ramaeka give me some hope for
the future of Amaria please!”

She gestured for him to come
forward.  Reluctantly he slipped past the others who glared, shoving him
through.  Should he pretend to fail or actually make a serious attempt?  Either
way he’d get it from his classmates whether it was for being too stupid to do
the spell or for showing them up.

“Anytime today Ramaeka,” Garain
said with studied patience.

Ramaeka looked at her out of the
corner of his eye.  She raised an eyebrow at him.  He shifted so that he was
side on to the target, raising his hand so that his palm faced up.  Garain had
told them in the last class to force the fire out with their magic, not to
physically throw it.  He pulled his magic up through his chest and into his arm
and hand.  A fire flower bloomed warmly on his palm, tickling his sensitive
fingers.  He had practised the fire spell a lot especially during winter.  Now
was the tricky part.  Slowly he turned his hand so that his palm faced the
target, the flame flickered gently.  Concentrate he told himself fiercely,
bolstering the flame as much as he could.  He compressed his magic into his arm
until he couldn’t fit anymore in; jamming it in firmly until the pressure made
his arm feel like it would explode.  He eyed the target down the length of his
arm.  Now he thought, releasing the magic with an audible bang.  His fire
roared down the hall as he stumbled backwards, sitting down hard.

“Well,” said Garain.  She walked
down the hall and prodded the ashy remains of the target with her foot.  She
peered down the remaining length of the hall.

“I would make that around the 200
length mark even after it hit the target.  Well done Ramaeka.”

She walked back to the class and
pulled him to his feet.

“Now that Ramaeka has reminded
you that we launch the fire with magic, not by physically throwing it, let’s
see if you can do better.”

By the end of the class nobody
had beaten Ramaeka on the range and power of his fire spell though most had
managed to hit the target.  Ramaeka was rather pleased by that though he was
smart enough to keep that to himself. 

As the rest of the class filed
out at the end of the lesson talking excitedly, Ramaeka lingered hoping to talk
to Garain.

“Teacher Garain,” he began
nervously as she waved the remaining targets back to the storage cave.  She
blinked down at him.

“Ramaeka, why are you still
here?”

“I was hoping, I mean...” he
mumbled nervously.  “I heard that you could learn to control the fire spell
with your mind so even if your target runs you can send it after them.  And ah,
I was wondering...”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry Ramaeka, but I’ve been
instructed not to teach magic that advanced unless Ramanae informs me
personally.”

She looked at his slumped
shoulder sympathetically.

“I will recommend you for
advanced learning, though I don’t know how much good it will do.”

She patted his shoulder before
sweeping out of the room.  With a sigh Ramaeka hurried after her, he had other
classes to attend.  Hopefully he would make it to the next one before anyone
remembered that they wanted revenge.

Later that evening Ramaeka made
his way back to the kitchen, his punishment duty and classes finished for the
day, hoping for a snack before watch duty.  As he passed close to the front
entrance of the fortress a commotion caught his attention.  Curious he turned
down the corridor towards the noise.  Slipping through the small crowd that had
gathered he peered at the group in front of him.  His father stood in the
centre.  He was surrounded by the hunting party that had left early that
morning.  One of them, a sister of his, was talking rapidly, pointing at
something at Ramanae’s feet.  Ramaeka was surprised to see his father smiling,
it was rather like seeing a roasted bird get up and start dancing, disturbing
and confusing.  At that moment one of the hunting party shifted slightly,
allowing him to see what was making his father smile.  A figure knelt at his
feet, its hands bound; it was incredibly dirty and clearly afraid.  Confused
Ramaeka wondered if the prisoner had been trespassing on their land. 
Trespassers were rarely captured and brought back; usually they were given a
sound beating and escorted to the border.  Why bring it back?  He crept closer
to the group, hoping to hear something.  As he got nearer he noticed a strange
scent, it was vaguely familiar but at the same time completely exotic. 
Unfortunately before he could get closer, the group swept away from him, his
father dragging the unfortunate prisoner behind him.