As the sun fell behind the horizon, Dracon allowed Jaysynn to plop onto the dusty ground. The prince guzzled down water from a canteen, emptying it for the second time that day. Half of its contents he poured over his face, mingling it with his sweat. His hair was as muddy as the ground under him. Dracon, a little sweaty himself, stood over the prince with his hands clasped behind his back. Jaysynn glanced up, his eyes meeting the general’s. Dracon was smiling in approval.
“You would make a fine soldier,” said the general.
“I don’t want to be a soldier,” he replied between pants. “Although Father would probably let me enlist just so he didn’t have to have a non-Select prince in the palace. He may not even care if I died in battle. What’s the point of all this?”
Dracon’s smile transformed into a scowl. “Stand up!”
Jolted, Jaysynn’s looked up up wide eyes. But before he could say anything, Dracon repeated his order: “Stand up! Do not lie in the mud like a pig and wallow in self-pity!”
Jaysynn snapped to attention, dropping his canteen, and stood ramrod straight with his arms at his sides.
Dracon sighed. “Relax. You aren’t a soldier, so there’s no need to act like one.”
Jaysynn hesitated to move, wondering if this was another test, but after a second or two, he took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his moist hair. Just then, he felt the general’s strong hand squeeze his shoulder. The prince lowered his arm and looked into the face of his mentor. He saw only pride in his expression.
“There’s no need for embarrassment. Your father, despite his great power, is blind to who you are and what you are capable of.”
“It doesn’t matter because I’m not a Select.”
“It does matter,” replied Dracon, releasing the prince’s shoulder. “You’re a prince. But more importantly, you’re a Thyrian. You are a descendent of Thyr and Yeva, the first man and woman created by Elthor, who were formed from the magic within the Heart of Thyrion. Their city—your city—was the first city, the cradle of civilization. Elthor commanded them to rule all they saw, and so the Thyrian Empire was born. Were you never taught that you were destined to rule?”
“Shar is getting the throne, not me.”
“No,” said Dracon, pointing authoritatively at Jaysynn, “it is the birthright of all Thyrians to rule and to be great. That is why we are equal with the Select—we share a common heritage. It matters not if we were given magic gifts or common ones. Look at me. I am not a Select, yet I rose through the ranks and became the supreme general of Thyrion’s Army. I am surpassed in rank only by…the royal family.”
Dracon paused. As that fact sunk in, Jaysynn hung his head and his shoulders slumped.
The general then grabbed and squeezed both of Jaysynn’s shoulders. The prince could not bear to look Dracon in the face, which went against everything he had been taught.
“Never let anyone strip you of your pride. That’s what all my training has been about. It was to restore your birthright, not as a prince but as a Thyrian. One day you will put your family’s doubts to shame.”
A smile finally cracked on Jaysynn’s face. He raised his head and said, “Thank you for believing in me.”
Dracon nodded in reply, unhanding the prince.
Jaysynn bent down to pick up his canteen in preparation to leave, but as he straightened, Dracon gestured for him to stay.
“Every army recruit is given a gift when he graduates.” The general reached into his jacket and produced a combat knife in a brown leather sheath emblazoned with a golden Thyrian royal crest. “Let it be a reminder of your birthright,” he said, handing it hilt-first to Jaysynn.
The prince took the knife and unsheathed it. Gripping its black rubber-covered hilt, he admired its fierce but simple six-inch blade, which seemed to glimmer despite being gray. Such knives were handcrafted by Select who could focus energy into a laser beam, so they were the sharpest blades in the world. It was a craft that had existed for a thousand years.
“Thank you,” said Jaysynn, sheathing the knife and strapping it to his waistband.
Dracon nodded. “We’ll meet me here again tomorrow. I’ll make a tracer out of you yet.”
Jaysynn snickered. “Yes, sir.”
The general smiled as they walked away.
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