“The Ironhand is here, Fyodor.” The huge Slavic man gestured to Cassian with a deferential tilt of the head. “He says he wishes to discuss a matter of business.”
Fyodor Highplains stopped oiling his tack and saddle for a moment, studying Cassian with his good eye. “Rare for you to be out of your forge so late, Cassian. Is the need for steel work so little that you have to drum up business on your own?”
“Hardly,” Cassian said with a laugh. “The need is as great as ever. To tell you the truth the forgemaster nearly turned purple when I told him I was leaving his shop. The business I want to discuss involves me hiring you this time.”
Fyodor slowly folded his oil cloth and set it aside then dismissed the man who had escorted Cassian to the stable yard with the wave of a hand. “Is that so? Can I ask what the commission would be?”
“I need two or three other people willing to go on a retrieval mission along the Drownway with me.”
“What would we be retrieving?”
“A caravan with three wagons worth of cargo, plus any survivors from the merchants and guards.” Cassian hesitated for a moment, debating whether he should mention Cazador being among the caravan or not. Ultimately he figured candor was the best policy. After all, Carpathea had figured it out easily enough. Hopefully the Arminger would be along for the ride as well in which case even if there was a good reason to hide the fact it was unlikely to work for very long. “My older brother is also one of the guards.”
“Ah.” Fyodor looked upset when he heard that. “I had wondered. You never expressed interest in the life of a bravo or condottieri before but men will do such things for family. Unfortunately I cannot help you.”
“There is a sizeable reward if we can retrieve the cargo.”
Fyodor sighed and grabbed his oil cloth and started in on the saddle again, scowling into the gleaming leather rather than meeting Cassian’s eyes. “The new Prince of Torrence has demanded the Marquis de Fionni come to Torrence. No one knows why. The Marquis has refused, because he has dreams of sitting on the throne in Lome himself. So the Prince is raising an army to drag the Marquis to Torrence whether he wishes to go or not. In short, it is war.”
This was all news to Cassian. But then again he’d been frantically trying to discover Cazador’s fate for the last ten days. He was out of touch with the news. For the Highplains clan it was a good chance to earn some coin and it explained why he’d seen so many of them scrambling to get their mounts and barding ready. “I only need two or three -“
“The Marquis has demanded a levy. The Slav quarter must furnish five hundred men or face the Reckoners.”
Cassian sucked in a breath. Five hundred men was the number of troops a Count was expected to furnish. He wasn’t sure there were even two thousand Slavs in all Fionni, much less five hundred of fighting age. “Will there be enough to meet the demand?”
“The Highplains Company are a hundred strong,” Fyodor said. “We will take as many as we can find in the Quarter then empty our coffers to hire the rest. My kin are not rich but we can afford a few score men if we must.”
The Marquis was getting a steal, then. Not only were the Highplains the best mounted troops for hire in Nerona but they were likely to bring in another mercenary company at their own expense. For Nerona’s Slavic population the options were service or expulsion. With no homeland of their own to return to and a reputation of betraying Neronan hospitality so established they were unlikely to find another territory willing to take them in if they were exiled from Fionni. Thus they had no choice but to serve when called upon. “I see. I hadn’t realized your position was so difficult, my friend, or I would have turned elsewhere for help.”
“How could you know? The Marquis only called for levies yesterday and you have other things on your mind.” Fyodor sighed and threw his cloth down in disgust. “But I regret there is nothing I can do to help you. Just as your worries are for your family; so are mine for my people.”
Cassian nodded. “I understand, my friend, and I’ll trouble you about it no more. I have one promising lead. I’m just sorry I won’t be able to help you get ready.”
The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Fyodor’s mouth. “We will miss your skill with metal, Cassian, but the decrees of fate show no partiality. If it is for you to find your brother you will.”
“He did have the scent of inevitability about him.” The voice was deep yet feminine and uncomfortably close to his right ear.
Cassian frowned and turned his head a few degrees, catching the speaker in the corner of his eye. “Your pardon, signorina, I do not take your meaning. You are?”
Fyodor’s expression matched Cassian’s. “This is my sister, Verina.” He set his saddle aside and got to his feet. “Rina, what brings you here?”
“Your friend.” She leaned in closer to Cassian and breathed deeply. “The Great Linnorm says he is touched by fate. Has he come to help us?”
The woman’s proximity was obnoxious. Cassian took two deliberate steps away from her, debating whether he should address her or her brother, but stopped short of speaking when a flicker of movement caught the edge of his perception. There was nothing there when he turned to look.
“He sought our help, sister,” Fyodor said, his frown deepening. “His business is his own. I hope Great Linnorm does not demand his aid; it is not my place to ask for it.”
“No, brother. It is something of the opposite.” Verina took a single step around in front of Cassian, studying him intently. Now that she was more in view Cassian had a opportunity to return the favor.
The first thing he noticed was her size. She was only an inch or two shorter than his own six foot height, well formed and lively. The second thing that stood out was her light brown hair, which was chopped savagely short in the back. It wasn’t very fashionable by Neronan standards. However it did reveal the very graceful line of the woman’s neck. Verina’s strangest feature by far was the black tattoos running down her arms and ending in a strange arrowhead shape on each hand.
Whatever she saw as she studied him she kept to herself. “What is your name, signore?”
“Cassian Ironhand.”
“Have you seen an omen from a Herald recently, Cassian Ironhand?”
He blinked at what felt like a very abrupt change in topic. “No. Well, not as such, although I did pay a visit to a man who’s connected to them somehow…” Cassian considered the question a bit more. Everyone knew Adalai Carpathea was connected to the Heralds of Eternity but none of the stories agreed on the nature of their connection. “Is that important?”
She sighed and turned to her brother, revealing an odd, winglike design on her back connecting the two lines that ran down her arms. “He had a touch of the inevitable on him, brother. Someone has to help him.”
He scowled and set his saddle aside with an emphatic thump. “Who, sister? I have no one to spare!”
“Yet the Great Linnorm demands the Slavs not abandoned this man.” Verina spun around, staring at Cassian with her unsettling blue eyes. “The price we pay for abandoning him will be far greater than what it costs to aid him.”
“Sorry, what price would that be?” Cassian asked. That was almost the last thing on his mind but he wasn’t sure what exactly the two of them were talking about so he figured he should just start asking questions and work things out as he got answers.
“Who can say?” She prodded a finger at his doublet, testing the mail hidden underneath. “Perhaps we’d lose the only blacksmith who doesn’t charge us a premium simply because we are Slavs. Perhaps it would be much worse. Most people do not see the ends of their own actions. Or inactions.”
“Call it action or inaction,” Fyodor growled, “but I have no men to spare to help him. If the Great Linnorm wishes to help him he must do so himself.”
Verina smiled. “I agree, brother.”
From the horrified look on Fyodor’s face Cassian got the feeling something had just gone over his head. “Fyodor, I don’t know anything about this Linnorm fellow but I don’t want you or him putting your people out for me. There are other fair minded smiths in the city. Tell him I can find some way to sort this out on my own.”
He caught another flicker of motion in the corner of his eye but this time, as he turned his attention back to the matter at hand he caught Verina looking towards the same spot. Then, to his surprise, she raised both hands to chest height, palms up. Her tattoos flickered with a dull green light. Then, as if conjured out of the air itself, two enormous reptilian heads appeared, staring at him with their narrow pupils.
Cassian had never seen a dragon head before but he knew, with supernatural certainty, that he was looking at two of them now. Each had a pair of graceful, curving horns poking out of its skull just over its eyes. The body of the creature glowed faintly but Cassian could still make out scales and wrinkles in the creature’s skin and the outline of the stable walls through it’s partly transparent body.
“We do not make decisions for the Great Linnorm,” Verina said, her voice deep and melodious. “He is one of the benefactors of the Slavic people, without whom we would no longer exist. The spirits of the land defended us from calamity once. If we do not have the strength to fend off misfortune now they will intervene for us again, whether we will it or not.”
“No, sister,” Fyodor said. “I will not allow you to undertake this task with Cassian. He is an honorable man and worthy of help, no doubt, but you cannot put yourself in danger like that. You are the only Yaga in Fionni, perhaps the only one in Nerona capable of hosting the Great Linnorm. This says nothing of the disgrace of allowing you to travel alone with a man not of your kin!”
The Linnorm’s heads swung about to glare at him, the malice clear in spite of the creature’s alien features. Once again Verina spoke on their behalf. “Are you suggesting that a Yaga, blessed by the Great Linnorm, is ever alone, brother?”
Fyodor visibly flinched, although Cassian couldn’t tell if that was because the Linnorm’s scrutiny frightened him or because of his sister’s question. “Verina. It is a question of your honor.”
“How can a Yaga ignore their spirit and still claim to have honor? Are we not Slavs?”
“I’m not,” Cassian put in. Four heads swiveled to stare at him. Something about the way the two Linnorm heads moved set his nerves on edge. It was deeply unnatural. The siblings were less synchronized but the added scrutiny didn’t help. “With due respect to you and your sister, Fyodor, and to the Great Linnorm, I’m a Neronan man. Your people and their traditions have no bearing on me. I’ve heard that Yagas are like our Heralds, messengers who speak on behalf of Eternity to warn you of things to come, but their power is rooted in your homeland, correct?”
“It’s as you say,” Verina answered. “But the fact that the roots are in one place doesn’t mean the branches don’t reach here.”
Cassian flicked a glance up to the two heads of the Linnorm. “Clearly. But their power is for the Slavs, not the Neronans, nor is there any proof that the spirit’s insight is as clear about me as it would be for a Slav. Does the Great Linnorm know in what way fate rests upon me? Will I die if nothing is done? Will I merely fail my task? Or is there some other, greater doom that I will not understand if no child of the Slavic people travels with me?”
For a long moment Verina and the Linnorm sat in silent congress. The heads of the dragon looked between each other while Verina stared straightforward, her eyes focused in the middle distance. Finally she said, “He doesn’t know.”
“Then let me tell you what I know. When a bravo mixes their work with the ways of men and women it is an ill omen. Always, signorina, regardless of nation or spirit.” Cassian offered them a bow from the waist. “You honor me by seeking to aid me in my cause and, believe me, I am grateful for it. But if the only aid you can offer me is to send one of your Yagas with me then I must decline. It will make your position worse and it’s likely to bring bad fortune to me.”
As he straightened up he caught a look of relief and gratitude on Fyodor’s face. Clearly he was happy to have someone else deal with his sister for once. Verina just looked surprised. The Linnorm’s heads were as unreadable as always, one head watching Cassian and the other focusing on the siblings. Then the head pointed at Cassian twitched towards the exit to the stable yard. It was enough of a dismissal for him.
“I hope we’ll see each other again when our tasks are done,” he said before pivoting on his heel and making a swift retreat. Hopefully Carpathea would be able to free himself from his own entanglements. Two people was not a lot to cross the Drownway but Cassian would prefer that to trying to deal with Verina and the Linnorm the whole way…
The main square outside Citadel Fionni was always a busy place, crammed to the brim with sailors off ships on the Gulf of Lum and the Adriatic Ocean, merchants restocking their wares from ship holds and tradesmen hawking their services to any who would listen. There was no sign of the typical denizens of court squares. Things like produce or livestock rarely found a place in the primary market of Nerona’s southernmost city. Farmers or peddlers hawked their goods in other, less prominent places in Fionni.
The main square was for the best of the best, things like exotic goods just imported or olive oil and rare marble bound for the far corners of the earth. Only the most valuable goods and rarest skills were worth trying to sell in the main square.
Although he was no stranger to town squares Cassian Ironhand found the Citadel’s too bustling for his taste. However there was only one man in southern Nerona who could do what he needed and that man was last seen selling his services in Fionni.
There weren’t many bravos plying their trade in town squares. Most clustered around gate houses or in the potter’s fields just outside city walls. These were the places that prompted the average merchant or traveler to think about hiring men of arms to protect their lives and livelihoods in the unsettled parts of Nerona.
However Adalai Carpathea was not strictly a bravo. When people first started mentioning his name a few years ago it was as a Herald, although the man himself supposedly hated that term. Regardless, he had a rare Gift, and that was what Cassian needed.
And so the young man picked his way through the carts and the cargo and the merchants and the sailors, looking for a man in dark colors with a single ostrich feather in his hat. It took a surprisingly long time to find him. Adalai must have had great confidence in his reputation, or he really didn’t feel a strong desire to take on work, because he had tucked himself into a far corner of the market, sitting on a dull red rug with a shield embroidered on it.
He peered up at Cassian from under the broad brim of his wine red hat, mild curiosity on his face. “Good morning, friend,” he said, voice thick with a strange, foreign accent. “What brings you to the largest market in Fionni on this fine morning?”
Cassian frowned as he looked Carpathea over. He had to admit he found Adalai’s dress and attitude a bit curious. The man wore a black cloak that hung to his waist in the front but tapered down to knee length in the back. It didn’t look particularly warm. Nor was it in fashion or serving to conceal armor or weapons. In fact he had set his two swords on the blanket beside him so as to sit at his ease so concealment was clearly not a priority to the man. Yet his pantaloons and dublet were unremarkable so displaying his sense of fashion wasn’t a concern either.
In short he was not dressed like a bravo. He wasn’t flamboyant or flashy enough to be promoting himself nor was he really armed or armored in the way you might expect if he was working. Best to make sure this was the right man. Cassian braced his hands on his hips and said, “My name is Cassian Ironhand. I’m looking for Adalai Carpathea, the Arminger. Are you him?”
“Yes. You came here to the market rather than tracking me to my inn and waiting there so I presume you want my services to commune with something rather than as a mercenary?” He asked Cassian the question with the detached attitude of the casual observer rather than someone trying to assess a prospective employer. At least that was Cassian’s impression. His accent made his mood as hard to understand as his words.
“You’re correct,” Cassian said. “Although depending on what you learn I may need to put together some bravos to mount a rescue. Would you be interested?”
His sour look suggested he was not but Carpathea did not immediately answer the question. Instead he started tugging off one of his gloves, saying, “We’ll see. Just to be clear, when I commune with an object the impressions I get are based on the residual thoughts, emotions and sensations left on the object by it’s owner or owners. For example, if you need to learn where your crazy uncle buried his gold you better have brought his shovel with you. Or at least something he always carried with him. The facts I can glean from communing with something are not infinite.”
“I understand,” Cassian said, although in truth he did not. However complete understanding of another person’s Gift was rare and he didn’t concern himself with it. Instead Cassian dug a piece of the axel of a large wagon out of his heavy leather shoulder bag. It was an iron hub cap, some splintered spokes and about two feet of axel. Cassian set it down on the blanket in front of Adalai. “This is from a wagon in a caravan that went missing crossing the Drownway. I was hoping you could tell me more about what happened.”
The other man took the piece of wood gingerly in his gloved hand then poked it with one finger of the other. His eyebrows shifted upward a barely perceptable amount. “Well there’s definitely something there, which is surprising given that it’s a wheel. Not to beat a dead horse but I don’t know how much of use it will be to you. Thirty lira.”
That was nearly two days wages for a laborer. Cassian tried to control his surprise at Adalai’s blunt demand. “That’s a lot to ask for in exchange for a service you insist may not do me any good.”
“My Gift has limits just like anyone’s, Cassian. I don’t expect you to know what they are anymore than I know what the specifics of an Ironhand are.” Adalai offered a dissolute shrug. “It’s up to you to decide if it’s worth it or not.”
Cassian grit his teeth, realizing Carpathea had the strong hand over him and he knew it. “Would it serve as a preliminary retainer for your services as a bravo as well?”
There was that sour look again. “No. I can’t commit to such a step just yet, there are… other obligations that I would have to check in on before committing to leaving Fionni. Who else have you recruited for your cause? Do you have the lira for a large party?”
“Not as such,” Cassian admitted. “However the merchant who owned the caravan’s cargo has offered a reward of two thousand lira if we can retrieve it, an extra five hundred if we can see it all the way to Renicie. I am offering equal shares to anyone who helps me retrieve it.”
“That… that isn’t terrible,” Carpathea admitted. “Still, I can’t say whether I can join you yet. Will you pay for the reading?”
Cassian sighed and dug a handful of coins of of his belt pouch. “Very well, Signore Carpathea, thirty lira for the reading. What can you learn?”
Adalai pulled his other glove off and gasped the axel in both hands. “Whoever owned this cart took very good care of it,” he muttered, concentration furrowing his brow. “It’s extremely rare for something that primarily sits on the ground to have any impressions at all.”
“Wouldn’t there be some from the craftsman who made it at least?”
“Not unless it was very new, the traces fade quickly unless they’ve been reinforced for years.” Adalai’s face scrunched up as he concentrated. “Damp. Something very impatient and very moist. Jostling, dragging and blood? I think there was excitement mixed in with a sense of satisfaction but the emotional overtones are very fragmented.”
“Excitement and satisfaction?” Cassian frowned. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense. No one looks forward to crossing the Drownway and a broken wagon wheel would be more a cause for heartache than excitement.”
“Not if you were planning to drag the wagon underwater,” Adalai said, shifting the chunk of wood over into just his right hand. “I don’t think that impression was left by the men of the caravan. It doesn’t feel like the kind of impression a human leaves behind, the thoughts were jumbled and alien, especially the sensations, which are usually the clearest thing. My guess is the caravan got snatched by the Benthic. The wheel got caught as they dragged it into the water and they left these impressions as they tried to free it.”
Cassian was shaking his head now. “It makes no sense. What do the Benthic want with a caravan of air breather goods? A few days in salt water makes most of it useless.”
“I don’t know, signore, but I know that wheel was last touched by something inhuman. I’ve never handled something belonging to the Benthic before but I have seen things from the Fair Folk and they’re just as inscrutable as that wheel axel. Just with a different flavor, if you follow me.”
Cassian didn’t. However he didn’t have much choice other than to take Adalai at his word. Armingers weren’t exactly rare in Nerona but there were perhaps half a dozen in the whole continent of Iberia who could use it to glean impressions the way Carpathea did. Finding anyone who could check the accuracy of his conclusions was virtually impossible. “The Benthic,” Cassian muttered. “Really?”
Adalai handed him the chunk of wood back. “I’m afraid so. Do you know what the cargo was? If it was something like marble or jewels it might survive.”
“Signore Marelli did not say, nor did he seem eager to explain himself.” Which Cassian really couldn’t blame him for, given that the Marelli family was the city’s best known cat’s paw for the Borgias. Crossing Nerona’s most ruthless merchant leader wasn’t a good way to live but it was a fast way to die.
“What about the rescue you mentioned?” Carpathea asked. “Was that Signore Marelli’s goal? Or yours?”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
The other man offered a shrug far easier to understand than his normal speech. “Call it a hunch.”
“Well if you must know it was mine. My brother is a bravo who was hired to guard the caravan. They’re only two weeks overdue and I still hold hope to find him alive.”
Adalai’s face fell. “I’m sorry about your brother but unless he had a Gift that helped him breath under water he’s probably dead. Outside of the Benthic dragging him under the waves with them I can’t think of any reason he’d be gone so long.”
“Cazador is a clayheart. He can turn completely to earth and stone in a pinch and once he does he didn’t need to eat or breath. He just can’t move either.” Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. “The problem is the cargo.”
For a moment Adalai looked confused. Then understanding dawned. “No reward money if the ocean has destroyed it.”
“None.”
For a moment Cassian just stood there brooding, trying to figure out how he was going to raise a rescue team with no promise of reward to entice them. He’d just determined he’d have to go alone when Adalai said, “Come by the Quarrelsome Widow tomorrow morning. That’s where I’m staying right now. I should know if my other… patrons are willing to spare me for a few days by then.”
Cassian stare blankly at him. “You do realize the chances I can pay you are paltry to nonexistent, yes?”
“Be there by midmorning bells, signore, or I’ll assume you changed your mind about your rescue mission.” Adalai sat back down on his blanket. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to try to earn some coin today. The next few days could be quite slow on that front.”
A grin slowly spread across Cassian’s face. Perhaps he still had a chance to make this work after all. “Thank you, Signore Carpathea. I will see you in the morning.”
He hurried out of the square with a new spring in his step. There was still a chance to find Cazador. He was always the toughest of their parent’s sons, even when they were young, and if anyone could survive under the ocean for weeks it was him. That was why he’d been the one to take up the life of a bravo in the first place. Cassian really only knew about the life from the stories he heard from Cazador and his customers at the smithy.
Still, those stories had gotten him Adalai’s name and from there a start on finding his brother.
Yes, getting dragged into the ocean by the Benthic wasn’t great as such things went. But bravos had survived worse things in the past and this wasn’t just any bravo. It was his brother. He’d just have to hope Cazador could hold out until Cassian could put something together and come save him.
Cassian knew he’d need more manpower to do that, though. It might have been difficult to find that manpower in any place other than Fionni but the Citadel was one of the largest ports on the Adriatic. There were plenty of desperate men willing to gamble their lives for a share of a few thousand lira. Fortunately he had a hunch where he should start. Cassian turned his feet towards the Slavic quarter and hurried there as fast as he could go.
Adalai shifted back and forth, trying to look around the legs of the kid standing on his shoulders. “Use a sleeve to brush -” A fit of coughing interrupted him. “Use a sleeve to brush the glass off the side of the frame and grab onto that.”
A series of oddly musical sounds accompanied a shower of uncomfortable glass slivers raining down on him. Adalai flinched away from them but kept his balance. The weight of the twelve year old kid shifted back and forth, briefly pushed down extra hard then vanished. Adalai craned his neck back and reached up to push the kid until he could plant his feet on the jacket covering the jagged lip of the broken widow.
The kid was right about the jacket being slippery. His feet shot out from under him almost immediately and the main reason he didn’t take a nasty fall was because he still had that grip on the window’s edges.
“Careful,” Adalai yelled, choking on another cough. “Is the ground clear?”
After a quick, panicky look down over one shoulder he answered, “Yeah, I think so.”
“Then turn around and drop yourself down.”
“It’s kinda far, mister,” the kid said, his nerves clearly getting worse. “Can’t I wait until the firemen can come and help?”
Adalai glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom door, where smoke was already creeping around the edges in frightening quantities. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, buddy. Besides, how am I gonna get up to the widow if you’re still in it?”
“Oh, right.” Suitably admonished the kid carefully twisted himself around in the frame, took a deep breath then dropped with a loud scream. Probably unnecessary but hopefully cathartic. It ended with a hard thump then the kid called, “I’m okay! You can come out, mister!”
And that brought Adalai to the elephant in the room. If he reached up to full extension he could get a grip on the lower edge of the windowsill but he wasn’t any good in gym class so the odds he could pull himself up and out that way were pretty slim even if he hadn’t thrown his windbreaker over it. With the slick fabric there he could forget it entirely. So instead he grabbed the wooden push broom they’d used to break the window in the first place.
His first idea, to wedge the head of the broom in the corner on the window, didn’t work. The angles weren’t quite right and he couldn’t make it catch. So instead he hooked it over the sill and tried to pull himself up that way. That did work.
For about eight seconds, until the head broke off the handle and sent Adalai crashing back to the floor. He tried to catch himself but there was nothing to grab onto and he rolled backwards and crashed head first into a sink.
For a moment his vision swam.
Then Adalai found himself sitting on one side of a large, square glass table in a domed room about the size of a three car garage. Confused, he looked around. Then he froze in place, realizing there was a twelve foot tall man made of deep blue light standing there.
A panicked thought that he’d been abducted by aliens flitted through his mind.
“Not abducted.” The voice was unusually deep and echoed in the room a little more than you’d expect but otherwise didn’t seem a good fit for the creature that stood next to him. “What kind of voice were you expecting?”
Adalai shifted uncomfortably as he realized the thing had read his mind. Probably shouldn’t have surprised him. “I guess -“
A deep, rasping cough cut him off. At first he expected things to clear out right away but, after the third rib shaking explosion tore out of him, Adalai started to worry they would never stop. A hand touched his shoulder and his muscles froze up. Something in his chest shifted and a stream of damp ash trickled out of his lips. That probably only took a second or two, though it felt like an hour, and once it was done the cold vanished and he could breath again. Adalai straightened up and realized the blue presence was what had touched him. Furthermore, the silhouette had small points of light glistening deep within it, like it was a living field of stars.
“Next time make sure he’s ready to speak before bantering with him.” This was a new voice and Adalai quickly concluded that this voice belonged to the starfield, not the first one. The first had been sharp and precise. This one was strong yet unhurried, like a lazy river that concealed surprising depths. The silhouette turned is attention fully towards him. “Welcome, Adalai Carpathea.”
“Thanks,” he rasped. “Where am I?”
“The Corners of Eternity,” the first voice replied. Adalai took a harder look at his surroundings, which included very little beyond the table where he sat. The smooth dome overhead looked like it was made of marble or some other light colored stone that had four doorways in it equidistant from each other. He presumed these were the corners the voice mentioned as the dome itself was round. A figure wrapped in green light stood in front of one of the doors and Adalai had the clear impression it was the source of the first voice.
“That’s right, Adalai.” The verdant figure gestured to itself. “I am the King of Dreams. You were brought here by the King of Stars, who now stands beside you. This is the King of Scars.”
As if speaking the name caused it to appear a third silhouette snapped into existence in front of the door to his left. This one radiated a soft, brown light that reminded Adalai of an autumn afternoon. “We’re all here,” the new figure said, its voice a rich, rolling sound. “Is this the one?”
“He is,” Stars replied, drawing itself up to it’s full height. “I suppose it is time to propose the question, Adalai Carpathea. Do you wish to live?”
Up until that point the bizarreness of the situation had distracted Adalai from the fact that it was also quite terrifying. “W-what do you mean?”
The King of Stars left his side and moved to the door in front of him. “You stand on the doorstep of Eternity, Adalai,” it said. “If you wish to cross the threshold to that blessed place you may do so and we would not hold it against you.”
“In many ways your death would be a noble one,” the King of Scars added. “Not everyone would have the presence of mind save another when confronted with the end of their own life. If you live longer who knows if the rest of your life will be as worthwhile? “
Adalai rubbed nervously at his throat, remembering the acidic taste of smoke. “Sorry, I’m a little lost. I know I was in the museum bathroom and the building was on fire… does that make one of you Charon? Because this doesn’t look like the Styx.”
“That’s something I’ve been called,” the King of Dreams replied. “The River is close, and you will see it when the time is right, but first you must make your choice.”
“That doesn’t make things much clearer,” Adalai admitted. “What am I choosing?” The King of Stars raised up its hand and a constellation formed there from the light of it’s body. “We are the keepers of Eternity’s rolls. Today Eternity called out to you but you are offered a rare gift – you may choose how you answer. You may pass through these doors and into the timeless realm or you may cross the gulf between mortal realms and face the trials and cares of human life once more.”
“Eternity?” He stared at the door behind Stars. “What is that like?”
A rumbling sound shook the room and it took Adalai a moment to realize it was the King of Scars laughing. The creature’s silhouette rippled as the sound echoed. “It may sound odd,” it said when it’s amusement subsided, “but we haven’t been there. Our duties are on this side of the River. If you choose to remain in the mortal realm then your duties will be there as well.”
His eyes narrowed. “My duties? What are those?”
“The same as they were before,” Dreams replied, “only of greater significance.”
“That sounds awfully vague,” Adalai said. “If you are who you say then you’re supposed to be the Ferryman who conveys souls to the afterlife. There has to be some reason you’re not doing that with me. People don’t just come back from the dead at random, if they did everyone would be talking about it.”
The laughter of the King of Dreams sounded like a rushing wind, battering the dome overhead. “Didn’t you know one of my names when you first got here?”
Adalai’s mouth hung open for a long moment as he tried to think of a good response but, in truth, he didn’t have one. “Okay. I either cross into Eternity or I cross to a… what, another world?”
“You will cross the horizon,” Dreams replied. “The world is your own, but given to a different people with different ways.”
“But can I go back to my own world? Or, I guess can I go back across the horizon?”
“Such a thing is possible,” the King of Scars said. “It does not even require power beyond what a human being can acquire in the realm you’re going to. However it requires a great deal of time and effort, Adalai. I can’t guarantee you’d accomplish it, even if you spent your whole life.”
He could. The voice boomed out from behind him like a thunderclap. If his duties are fulfilled, he could.
Terrified, Adalai spun in his chair, trying to find the source of the voice. Before he could turn a quarter of the way the King of Stars was beside him, holding him in place. “Show some restraint, Karoushi. His mind won’t survive seeing you like that.”
Now that he knows this he will not look upon me. Is it not so, Adalai Carpathea?
He fixed his full attention on the table in front of him. “Yes.”
It is well. Now that he was a little calmer he realized the voice had a slight feminine lilt to it.You must know further things than these, Adalai Carpathea. These Kings of the Doors have only the authority to judge a man’s death. However I am Karoushi, Who Knows the End. My purpose is to uphold the path, from the first step to the last, for all who tread the mortal coils. I can see that if you uphold your purpose in the place you are sent one day my sister, Who Spans the Horizon, will return you to the place you began.
Then Adalai felt there was really only one choice to make. “In that case I want to live. Send me to whatever this place beyond the horizon is.”
He must have a Gift.
“A what?”
The King of Scars shifted as if folding its arms. “We don’t give Gifts, Karoushi, unless you consider turning people back from Eternity a gift.”
Do you not take them from those who depart? My sister, Who Brings the Harvest, takes them from you and plants them in new lives. This once you must offer them yourselves.
Some kind of communication passed between the three Kings. It wasn’t words or motions but Adalai could still sense that they were skeptical enough about this idea they were debating it. Then the three doors behind them opened.
Adalai caught a brief glimpse of a man choking on blood as he lay on a muddy battlefield, a child lost and starving in a forrest and a man crushed under the wall of a house he was building. Then the doors slammed shut.
The King of Scars held a dim bronze colored spark of light. “The Gift of Impulse,” it said. “With it you may move whatever you last held whether you are touching it or not.”
The King of Stars held a smudge of silver mist. “The Gift of Clouds. With it all mist or fog that you touch will be as a part of yourself.”
The King of Dreams held a box of bright white light. “The Gift of Arms. With it you will discover the purpose imbued into whatever you touch.”
You must choose one. However, once you do the decision is made know that you cannot go back. You must suffer through the fates of mortals until Eternity calls you once more.
For a long moment Adalai hesitated. There was something tempting about the great unknown that Eternity represented. On the other hand there was all the friends he’d left behind, to say nothing of his parents and little brother. It getting back to them meant doing something over some horizon he’d do that.
“Wait.” He pause in the process of pushing his chair away from the table. “How do I know my purpose in this new place?”
The same way you knew it when you saved that child. That is all mankind has ever needed to know their purpose.
He could see the truth in that but it couldn’t hurt to have something to help him work things out. Adalai got up, approached the King of Dreams and took the Gift from his hands.
There was a flash of light and he found himself standing just inside a massive stone gate, surrounded by a bustling crowd of people babbling in a strange language he’d never heard in his life.
That was how Adalai Carpathea first came to Citadel Fionni.
This work also appears on Substack and Royal Road under the user name HorizonTalker
Aelfred and Gwendolyn return for another glimpse into the dangerous life of a Neronan bravo.
Cool mist rolled down off the southern mountains of Isenlund into Selene Valley, covering the trees and road in shadows and secrets. The Valley ran right down the heart of the country to the Gulf of Lum but this far north it was anyone’s guess whether they were in the lands of the Isenkoenig or the territories of Nerona. By Aelfred’s reckoning the only point north of where they were that was in Neronan hands was Casa Verdemonde. But the green mountain was a safe and prosperous land. In contrast the northern Valley was wild and full of danger from man and nature.
It was hardly the first time Aelfred had passed through the Valley with his wife and hopefully it wouldn’t be the last. However he’d never once passed through without incident. So when their caravan wound down out of the mountains and stumbled on a company of men at arms Aelfred regarded them with some trepidation. The troops were led by a flag with a green mountain on a red field. Verdemonde’s colors. Which didn’t necessarily mean Verdemonde’s men.
It wouldn’t be the first time villains had hidden themselves in trustworthy heraldry. After a quick discussion with the caravan leader Aelfred went to speak with the company’s captain. Gwendolyn came along with him, both because a man and wife were less threatening than a man alone and because she would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t.
To Aelfred’s surprise the captain also had a woman beside him as he approached. Where Gwendolyn was dressed simply, in clothes tailored to hide the armor underneath, this woman was dressed in rich brocade with velvet gloves and long, layered skirts. The only practical thing she wore was her sword belt. That and the long, deadly montante buckled to it hinted that there was more to the woman than fine clothes and good manners.
“Good morning, Captain,” Aelfred said. “What brings you on the road to Lome on this fine day? Are there brigands about we should be aware of?”
The captain lightly spurred his horse and it stepped forward. “None I know of, unless you count yourself among them. We ride to Lome, and from there to Torrence on the business of the Marquis de Verdemonde.”
“How fortunate! Lome is our destination as well.” Aelfred gestured back towards the caravan behind them. “Your servants are a small band of traders from Isenlund and their escorts, seeking to trade our humble wares in Lome. Perhaps we may join with you on our shared journey. Or if you prefer we will clear the road that you may be on your way, for you will doubtless outpace our lumbering wagons.”
He felt the hair of his beard prickling as he waited for the captain to answer. Either option he had just suggested would be fine with him, since a merchant’s wagon train was safer with an armed group than without. If the troops were bandits in disguise it would be easy to tell after marching with them for a few minutes. If they chose to march on ahead then at least it was a sign they had no ill intent, since you didn’t rob wagons by walking away from them. On the other hand, bandits would ask them to stay ahead of them, in their line of sight. What a bandit leader wouldn’t typically do is lean down and whisper with the well dressed woman on foot beside him.
“What do you think?” Gwendolyn whispered, pressing close to him as well.
“There’s a carriage in the back,” he replied, “perhaps they’re taking some emissary or personage to Lome.”
“I was wondering if they were married.”
Aelfred snorted. “Then she’d be on the horse with him, not walking beside him.”
“Do you have your pass from the Southern Keep in Isenlund?” The captain called. The head merchant had given it to him before they came to parlay so Aelfred just had to hold it up, with the seal of der Isenkoenig clearly displayed on the wooden block. “Very well, let us march with you. Our business is not pressing and we will be safer together.”
The well dressed woman was already making her way back through the body of troops as the captain spoke. Aelfred watched her go, only vaguely acknowledging the captain’s words. As he and his wife returned to report their successful negotiation to their employer he wondered who she was. Hopefully it wouldn’t matter. But in a place like the Selene Valley you could never know.
“What was it this time? Woodcutters? A wagon with a broken axle? Or has Captain Enrico finally found an assassin after all this time?”
Noemi sighed as she slung her sword back on top of the carriage and strapped it down. “None of the above, Bi. It was just a group of traders down from Isenlund on their way to Lome.”
“Oh? Do you think they brought any of their griffon feather cloaks with them? It would be nice to have something to help keep warm in the winter and they say griffon feathers are just the thing for it.”
The carriage creaked as Noemi folded herself down inside it, sliding past her charge and onto the bench facing her. “Bi, you’re most likely going to be living in Torrence from now on. They don’t have winter there. It’s not just the fact that you’re out of the mountains, you’re going to be down by the Adriatic Ocean. It doesn’t get cold there.”
Bianca de la Torrence sighed and looked out the window, watching as the soldiers started forming up again. “That’s what they say, Emi. My brother will certainly want to keep me in his court even though neither one of us have ever met or even lived in Torrence before.”
Noemi straightened her skirts and arranged her heavy, booted feet so they didn’t rest on Bianca’s daintier velvet shoes. The lady was better dressed than her guardian but the loose skirt, tightly laced corset and flowing collar and sleeves also made her look ephemeral. Noemi was constantly worried a light jostling would send her floating away in the wind. “Who wouldn’t want you around, Bi? Your sunny personality endears you to everyone you meet!”
Her friend gave her a sideways look, annoyance simmering in the dark blue irises of her eyes. “Don’t you start, too. No one in Verdemonde cared about me until it turned out the last Prince of Torrence died without an heir and all the cousins, step children and bastard lines had to bicker over who would inherit. No one in Torrence will care about me unless they hope to marry their way onto the throne.”
“Bi.” Noemi took Bianca’s hands in her own. “I will always be there for you, no matter what. No one in Verdemonde wants to marry into the Marquis’ branch family that watches the vineyards, after all, much less marry a handmaid born with the Bladebearer’s Gift.”
For the first time in a long time Bianca favored her with a wan smile. “Very well. Stay with me no matter what, then.”
“Something’s wrong, Aelfred,” Erasmus said, falling into step beside the bravo and his wife.
The couple shared an amused look. The tall, wire thin man found three things out of place before breakfast every morning. It was part of what made him such an excellent guard. He’d signed on with the caravan on the trip north from Nerona, long before Aelfred and Gwendolyn did, and the merchants put a lot of weight on his hunches.
“I don’t suppose you know what it is?” Gwendolyn asked. “We can hardly go and tell Signor Gerardo that there is a wrong without an idea to right it, can we?”
“I don’t know yet.” His head hadn’t stopped swinging about on the end of his neck like a fishing bobber the whole time they spoke. His eyes were studying the line of the forest with a brooding expression. “I just wanted you to be aware. You Herakleians are the only other bravos in this troupe worth swearing by and if you’re on your toes as well we might be able to do something before we’re all dead.”
It took an effort of supreme will on Aelfred’s part not to roll his eyes. Gwendolyn babied Erasmus like a frightened child but he found the constant worrying grating. The fact that Aelfred was sharing those nerves with him this time made it worse, not better.
“Good omens!” Erasmus called, his attention now behind them on the newcomers, one hand raised in greeting. The couple beside him followed his gaze to see who he addressed.
Approaching from the Verdemond company was a man who didn’t wear green and red but rather a rich brown robes with muted orange hems and a similarly colored cloth wrapped around his head and tied in the rear. A white tabard with a pattern of red slashes on it protected his front and announced his profession. He was a Herald for the King of Scars.
“Dawn greets us,” the Herald said, replying to Erasmus.
“It does indeed.” Erasmus made some kind of hand gesture to go along with it which told Aelfred it was some kind of ritual exchange. Neronans couldn’t be sensible and just worship the sun so their religion got complicated quickly. Gwendolyn had picked up a lot of it but he only picked up enough to recognize the four Kings of Eternity and their Heralds so he wasn’t sure what the gesture meant.
“Our friend is nervous about our prospects, Omen Reader,” Aelfred called. “I have few pleasant memories of the Selene Valley myself. What say you? Have any portents made themselves known?”
“The King of Scars does not show us the future in the way the King of Dreams might,” the Herald replied, falling in next to Erasmus. Now that he was closer Aelfred could see the Herald was larger than he first appeared. He was only an inch or two shorter than Aelfred himself and just as broad through the shoulders with a strength in the chest and arm mostly hidden by his loose robes. If Aelfred’s scrutiny bothered the Herald it wasn’t enough to make him stop speaking. “We do not receive visions of the future or dreams of our impending death but rather have an understanding of who will die of what wounds and which crops will grow until harvest. Powerful portents, to be sure, but not as useful in predicting the future as some omens.”
“We still appreciate your presence on behalf of He Who Takes the Souls of the Slain,” Erasmus replied. “Let’s hope you do not see his hand stretched out for any of us today.”
A brief shadow passed over the Herald’s expression. It cleared as Gwendolyn said, “Do you Heralds have names or should we simply call you Omen Reader?”
“Ignacio Scarbearer,” he replied with a gracious smile. Like most Neronan men he turned charming whenever addressing a woman. It didn’t distract Aelfred from his name. Scarbearer wasn’t a name taken from his role as a Herald but rather a name derived from his Gift, as most Neronan names were. It explained his robust appearance and presence with the Verdemonde troops. “May I ask yours, Dame…?”
“Gwendolyn of Vernon, although my husband and I are called the Herakleians in Nerona for reasons that are strange to me.”
Ignacio glanced at Aelfred before turning his attention back to his wife. “I can see the resemblance. It’s not an entirely flattering comparison but… I could tell the story when we’re camped, if you really want to know.”
“I suppose it’s not that important,” Gwendolyn mused.
“Good omens!” One of the merchant apprentices hustled past on some errand waving to the Herald in greeting.
He raised his hand to wave in response, his mouth open to reply, when his eyes widened slightly and he stumbled before catching himself. He let his hand fall to his side, his words unspoken. Erasmus, who hadn’t once stopped scanning the horizon as they spoke to the Herald, finally turned his gaze to Ignacio and said, “Something is wrong.”
“Yes.” Ignacio met his gaze. “That man will be killed today unless something changes. So will half of our company. I came to take your measure, see if you were villains in disguise, but you don’t have the look of it. Death hangs over just as many of you.”
Aelfred drew himself up, his own gaze going to the tree line now. “Erasmus, go and tell the lead wagon to stop. If there’s danger afoot we’d better dig in and make ready for it rather than get caught running with our guard down. Propose to your captain he do the same, Omen Reader.”
“I will suggest it but I doubt he’ll agree.” His words weren’t encouraging but the Herald still turned and hurried back towards his company.
There was a banging on the carriage door and Noemi pulled the curtains aside to find Captain Enrico cantering alongside them. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” He gestured to a tall, broad man in the heraldry of Scars. “Omen Ignacio tells me he sees death pursuing us as well as the caravan we met. He proposes we circle up and prepare for an attack and I can see the wisdom in this. However I think it could be better for us to try and outpace the danger, instead. Wagons are poor fortifications and their owners will be underfoot.”
“And I am most likely the reason we will be attacked in the first place.” Bianca added, the implications of the situation not lost on her. She sucked in a deep breath then let it out slowly, a stricken look on her face.
Noemi could tell her friend was at a loss so she spoke up. “Do you know what the nature of the threat is, Omen Reader?”
“My liege’s portents do not work that way,” Ignacio replied. “I only know many here will perish in fire or of being pierced through today. Respectfully, Your Highness, there is no way to know they will perish on your account, either, but there may be something we can do to prevent it happening at all. I don’t believe running is the thing to help us or the caravan.”
“We don’t have an obligation to them,” the captain hastened to add. “On the other hand I have an obligation to see you safely to Torrence and your brother wouldn’t wish for you to die before you have the chance to meet.”
“He wouldn’t want to look weak before he takes the throne, you mean,” Bianca snapped, acid on her tongue. Her voice deepened a step and her Gift pushed at the men. “Find a source of water and circle the wagons there; you decided to travel with this group, Captain Enrico, we’re not going to abandoned them now.”
The two men bowed slightly to Bianca and split away from the carriage to carry out her Command. Noemi doubted it would have much effect on either one. Although powerful in the moment her friend’s Gift of Command rarely lasted more than a breath or two and Enrico, in particular, would be resistant to it as he had the same Gift. But he was a loyal man, as well, and would carry out the order regardless. Bianca’s mood, on the other hand, had quickly shifted from haughty and demanding to glum once again. “I shouldn’t have done that.”’
“Why not?”
“With the exception of you, Emi, no one in your family thinks of me when they say to keep me safe. They worry about offending the Prince of Torrence, whoever that is at the time.” Bianca sighed and sank back into the carriage cushions. “That only goes so far, though. I’m sure if I get an entire company of men killed over some foreign merchants even your father will run out of patience.”
“He may,” Noemi said gently, “but I won’t. The Marquis always sent me away, to learn medicine, to learn the sword, to watch the foster girl. What have you always said?”
A wan smile touched her lips. “Stay with me, Noemi.”
Looking back on it, the Verdemonde troops being bandits in disguise would have been so much simpler than the actual danger lurking in the Valley. Or rather, just above it.
Erasmus brought word that the Verdemonde were planning to find a river or lake to camp beside about ten minutes after the Herald left to talk to his captain. One of their scouts had the Gift of Leaping and started hopping up over the treeline to see what was out there. He’d made three jumps when a blast of fire came out of the sky and struck him. The scout tumbled out of the sky, screaming, but never made it all the way to the ground as the dragon swooped past overhead and snatched him up. Just like that, everything went out the window.
“Abandon the wagons!” Aelfred bellowed, reaching up and dragging one of the merchants off his seat then shoving him towards the treeline. “Get under cover, quickly!”
There were generally two reasons dragons strayed into human lands – hunger and greed. The mountains were full of goats, rocs and other animals that could easily sate the hunger of even the largest dragons which meant the dragon most likely sought gold and gems. Perhaps it caught the scent of coins from the wagons. It was the only thing that made sense, unless it had somehow concluded it could ransom a bunch of soldiers back to Marquis Verdemonde.
In spite of his order the chief merchant whipped up his wagon and started down the road. “Where are you going?” Aelfred demanded, waving frantically to him. “Get down from there!”
“All the coins and talismans are here!” He yelled back. “It will chase me first! Keep my son with you!”
Cursing under his breath Aelfred cast his eyes about until he saw the younger man, scrambling to unhitch a horse from a wagon to chase after his father. He pointed and snapped, “Gwendolyn, bring him!”
“Randolf!” She snapped, because of course she knew his name. “Come here!”
The Command latched into the boy and he took three steps away from the wagon before he could make himself stop. It was enough that Reinaldo Grip, one of the other guards, got hold of the boy and dragged him towards cover. Immediate concerns dealt with, Aelfred took stock.
The Verdemonde were breaking apart their formation so it couldn’t be wiped out with a single exhalation and they were abandoning the carriage so they could take cover under the trees. That was when Aelfred felt his heart drop. A young girl, perhaps sixteen years old, was climbing down with the help of the well dressed swordswoman from earlier. He didn’t recognize her but he knew the type. With her light and airy appearance and the utter deference from the swordswoman, captain and Herald all showed her in spite of the circumstances it was obvious this girl was important. Someone, somewhere would pay a fortune to have her back. That had to be what the dragon wanted.
A burst of light, a whoosh of flame and a short, abrupt scream came from the opposite direction, where the caravan leader had gone, and Aelfred’s attention was dragged back that way. He backpedaled towards the treeline himself, trying to work out the best defense now. Abandoning the wagons to the dragon made sense when they were the only thing that the creature might want. But if it wanted to take the girl then it wasn’t going to help them that much.
Flashes and screams flickered out of the woods. The dragon was hunting down anyone who ran, herding them back into a single location to ensure its prey would not escape.
Erasmus appeared by his elbow. “What now? It’s in the trees and if we fall back we’ll just make a larger target grouped together with the soldiers.”
“Fall back,” Gwendolyn said. “It’s not impossible to kill a dragon with a company of men and it doesn’t look like we’re going to escape it.”
“Agreed,” Aelfred said. His stomach rumbled, even though breakfast was only a few hours behind them. “On the double, it’s getting close again.”
“Clayhearts forward!” Captain Enrico ordered, spurring his horse along the rapidly forming skirmish line. Six men marched forward, shields in hand, as their bodies transformed into living earth. Noemi found herself musing that if anyone was going to survive this battle it was them. The ground did no burn, after all. “We can buy you time to escape, Highness. Lady Verdemonde knows this road and can see you safely back to the mountain. The Marquis can send you home at a later time.”
“No, captain,” Bianca replied, drawing herself up to her full five feet of height. “Dragons are meticulous. It will hunt you down and devour you all to cut us off from help and sow fear. Ultimately any noblewoman of Nerona knows they cannot escape when a dragon sets its sight on them. I must either surrender to it or make a stand. You are men of Verdemonde, not Torrence. I can’t ask you to die for me but I don’t wish to be set on a pile of treasure in some dragon’s cave and wait to see if a distant brother I have never met will ransom me. If you wish to run, please leave me your dagger.”
“Not necessary, Your Highness,” Enrico replied. “If you wish to make a stand then Verdemonde is proud to stand with you.” He glanced at Noemi. “Is it not so?”
“I cannot speak for my father or the Prince of Torrence,” she replied. “But I will always stand with you Bi, dragon or no.”
Enrico nodded and looked back to his men. “Conjurers! Begin fortifying.” Two men in lighter armor began summoning foot high stones from thin air, allowing them to fall in place and make a low wall. Noemi wasn’t sure it would do much against a dragon but it kept the men busy. The captain’s stomach growled fiercely and he scowled. “Can’t imagine what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s the dragon,” Noemi replied. “They are hunger incarnate and their power far overshadows any human Gift. As it draws near it’s nature will corrupt our own.”
“Wonderful.” He looked back to his men. “Impulse line, spread out!”
Aelfred took the time to free the horses and ensure the merchants were out of the wagons, running back and forth to check each of the five remaining wagons while Gwendolyn encouraged the stragglers on to shelter in the woods or behind Verdemonde’s lines. Erasmus and Reinaldo remained at the edge of the caravan on the lookout. They had just finished with the wagons when Aelfred saw Erasmus’ eyes widen and Gwendolyn screamed, “Run, Aelfred!”
He knew better than to look so he just took off in a dead sprint. Even with the power of his wife’s Command spurring him onward he still felt the heat of the flames that burst over the wagons licking at his heels. An invisible force grabbed him as Reinaldo’s Gift pulled him forward, off his feet and out of the blast zone. Erasmus caught him and kept him on his feet then the four of them took off at full tilt towards the Verdemonde company, the flames casting long shadows before them. A shield wall of living earth marched out to meet them, brandishing spears. A second wave of fire chased them but the transformed Clayhearts intercepted the attack without flinching, the flames washing harmlessly over their steel shields. Aelfred skidded to a stop behind them and spun, raising his ax up for a throw, hoping to at least briefly delay the monster that pursued them.
The heat of the dragon’s breath had burned off the mist but now a thick smoke took its place. It hung over the remains of their caravan like a thundercloud, a huge form looming over it. A crown of horns rested on a head shaped like a spade with a hooked beak and glaring reptilian eyes. It’s scales were the color of coal and it’s teeth shone like silver. It braced its serpentine body upright on two long legs that were as thick or thicker than its chest and its throat shone with a dull, red light. Gossamer insect wings as wide as the sky sprouted from its back lazily beating the smokey air.
Aelfred had seen many horrifying creatures in his life and even he felt his heart quail at the sight. Practice and discipline drove his arm forward and his hand to release his ax but his mind was distracted. His Gift lost it’s hold on the weapon. He could not use it to tap the weapon onto the best course or add its extra Impulse of power. So his trusty ax drifted off course and bounced of the scales of the dragon’s arm, causing no visible damage but provoking it to an enraged roar. Aelfred saw the men in front of him cringe and his own heart wavered.
Then the dragon charged.
The skirmishing line was brushed aside like paper by the heaving bulk of the wyrm’s body that coiled and writhed like a whip. From the glimpse Aelfred got of it, the creature had only two legs. The rest of its body was free to churn and strike all about and it used its serpentine coils to throw the men of earth about, their weapons flying from their hands. Aelfred scrambled, grabbing a dropped spear in each hand then immediately throwing one at the dragon.
This time he kept his Gift trained on it and guided it towards the dragon’s head. The wily serpent opened its mouth and belched a stream of fire that turned the weapon to ash. The wave of heat hit him like a slap. Then Erasmus shoved him out of the way just before the torrent of flame washed over them both. The other bravo’s body disappeared.
A titanic clap of thunder shook the ground. The dragon’s fire turned from bright red to shocking blue as a bolt of lightning ran up the fire and into the dragon’s head. It jerked upwards, shrieking in pain. The crackling electricity pulled back together into Erasmus, who perched precariously atop the dragon’s head for a moment. He scrambled to try and gain purchase on the creature’s horns. Then the dragon bent like a bow and launched itself into the sky again, sending Erasmus tumbling to the ground. Reinaldo caught him before the landing smashed all the bones in his body.
Aelfred let himself flop flat on the ground once he saw his friend was safe, at least for the moment. The shock of the dragon’s presence and the impact of the thunderclap had left him rattled and he needed a moment to rally. Perhaps more than a moment. By the time he rolled over to his front and pushed himself up things were quite different. The Verdemonde men were scattered and only a handful were still visible among the smoke and flames, huddled around the wreckage of the carriage. Hands grabbed Aelfred’s shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “Up with you, Aelfred,” Gwendolyn hissed from her place on his right. “It’s time to make the throw of your life. You saw that old snake’s evil little eyes, didn’t you?”
“What of it?” He gasped, swaying on his feet.
“You have a spear in hand, don’t you?” She was right, he was still holding that spear in his hand. “It’s time to throw it.”
“And don’t pull back your arm,” Erasmus added.
That was when he understood what they were planning. As he shifted the spear into his right hand and pulled it back to throw Gwendolyn backed away, saying, “Your arm is strong and your aim is true, Aelfred, and your body forged to stand against the storm!”
“Loose arrows!” Enrico had dismounted his horse and let it flee, now he worked a crossbow himself as he called commands. Alas, the arrows went wild as the wind from the dragon’s wings battered them. The situation had turned grim very quickly once the captain’s line of skirmishers were knocked aside. The conjured wall did little to stop the dragon’s breath and now a dozen men lay scattered across the road, covered in burns.
The monster swept past them, uncaring, belching fire at a trio of soldiers who fled back into the treeline. They threw bolts of fire and thunder from their hands in retaliation. The fire did little to deter the dragon but the lightning pained it and it crashed to the ground again, spewing flame and smashing trees in its fury as it sought to pry its antagonists out of the forest and devour them. “Steady!” Enrico bellowed. “Reload!”
But half the company was dead or injured at this point and Noemi could see that the survivors were beginning to loose their nerve. The creature’s very presence was horrifying and they had few soldiers with powerful Gifts left. She hefted her montante onto one shoulder and said, “Bi, this isn’t going to work. It’s time you left.”
Her ward gave her a shocked look. “I cannot, Emi. I asked them to make a stand!”
“She’s right, Highness,” Enrico replied. “We’ll hold here as long as we can but it was madness to think a mere fifty men could stand against a dragon of that size. Verdemonde swore you would reach Torrence safely. Don’t let me be a liar as well as a dead man.”
For a moment Bianca looked stricken. Then she slipped a hand through Noemi’s elbow and said, “I won’t allow either, Captain Enrico.” Her voice carried over the battlefield with supernatural clarity. “By trick of birth I am called Torrence but the place where I found my home was not that city in the west or the orchards of the Gulf. The place that called me its own was Verdemonde in the north. The green pines of the mountain sheltered me, the fruit of its vineyards sweetened my life and the red soil of its valleys is still on my shoes! Verdemonde reached out and took my hand once. I’ll not leave its people to die for me now. Show courage, men of Verdemonde! We will win this yet!”
Noemi swallowed once, watching the men rally at her words. This was the true magic of Bianca’s gift. Orders were not her forte, rather the power to stir the hearts of others to rally around her. Her father insisted the push of Bianca’s Gift was like no other Command he’d ever heard. For her part, Noemi couldn’t say if that was true. She’d never once felt any kind of unusual push from her ward. Perhaps that was because of the trust between them, perhaps she’d just been so warped by Bianca’s words over the years she couldn’t imagine life without the force of them in her mind.
Perhaps the fact that the only thing Bianca asked of her was something she was perfectly happy to do had something to do with it. Noemi wasn’t sure. Would she still have taken the hand of that five year old girl by the river if she’d known that eleven years later it would drive her to face death in the Selene Valley under the shadow of a dragon’s wings? She wasn’t sure about that either. It wasn’t exactly the time to work it out.
In the distance the dragon lifted into the air again, blood dripping from its jaws. Enrico watched it and sighed. “If that is how it’s to be, what am I to say? You honor us, Highness.”
“She does more than that,” Ignacio rasped, his voice taught with pain. Noemi spun to see him limping back from the destroyed wall draped over the arms of two soldiers. Four others limped along behind him. A moment ago they had been covered in burns and soot, now their skin looked perfectly healthy in spite of the ash that caked it. In exchange the Herald’s face was a mass of charred flesh, cracked and oozing blood and puss. Foul smelling liquids soak through his robes from wounds beneath. Only his eyes were intact, bright points of wild energy. “She’s showing you the way to victory!”
Bianca sucked in a breath. “Ignacio? How are you alive?!”
“No scar I bear can slay me, de la Torrence!” He spat the words around his pain with a ferocity that frightened even the hardened soldiers that carried him. “Bring that dragon close enough for me to touch and we’ll see if the same is true for him!”
“He’s not wrong but he is clearly mad.” The captain pointed towards the back and the carriage. “Get him to the rear, if we live we can take him to a Mender in Lome to speed his healing process. Archers, ready! The rest of you, make your stand by the princess as you see fit!”
The dragon swooped towards them again.
“Stand strong!” Bianca called. For better or worse this was what they had to do so Noemi took a half step forward in front of her friend and raised her blade over her head, feeling her Gift charge it with the familiar glow of power as she waited for the impact to come.
The arrows from the soldiers had no more effect on the dragon the second time around. It was focused on Bianca, its eyes bright with malice, as its two long, clawed legs reached down towards her greedily. It didn’t breath fire this time. Somehow Noemi could see that it didn’t want to kill its prize. The rest of them were inconsequential in its eyes.
Then a spear crashed into one eye, replacing it with a spray of green blood. The dragon roared and flailed through the air, bucking drunkenly as it writhed in pain. For a brief moment Noemi saw some bravo from the caravan guards, one hand outstretched in a picture perfect throw with another one of the guards bracing a hand on the thrower’s shoulder. Then the second guard turned to a flash of light. The lightning bolt arced through the thrower, setting his hair and beard on end, out of his fingertips, through the air and into the spear.
The dragon’s skull flashed brighter than the noon sun, jerking wildly as it rushed towards them. Noemi stepped forward to meet it and spun her sword around in an overhead flourish, the blade biting into the dragon’s flailing arm, deflecting it fully away from them in a spray of green blood. A strange scent, like cut wheat, filled the air and she was suddenly ravenously hungry.
The dragon spiraled away overhead, screeching in pain, its body pinwheeling through the air as its wings beat the sky furiously. The passage of its enormous body blasted the ground with wind and the humans beneath were blown to the ground in disarray. The dragon snatched up the carriage as it righted itself and threw it in fury. It bounced along the ground, smashing into pieces, and the largest of them careened towards Ignacio and the men who had carried him. Noemi scrambled to her feet but she could already tell that she wasn’t going to make it to them in time.
Bianca did. She threw herself over the Herald just before the wreckage slammed down on top of them. Noemi screamed in wordless panic and ran, her pulse pounding in her ears, reaching the wreckage of the carriage in the blink of an eye. One of the soldiers must have been between Bianca, the Herald and the carriage. His lifeless body lay under the wreckage on top of her and Ignacio. Immediately Noemi grabbed the splintered wood and tried to life it off them but it was too heavy.
The Hearld’s eyes focused on hers and he wheezed out, “Let me touch it. Let me touch the dragon.”
“It’s still too far away.” Noemi wedged her sword under the wreckage and tried to lever it off of them. “Can you take her wounds on you?”
Ignacio flopped one arm over, touched Bi’s forehead and his eyes turned cloudy. There was a sound like snapping bone then Bianca’s eyes snapped open and she whimpered. The Herald’s eyes focused again. “Your leg is healed. Now push, or we’ll die under here.”
Noemi put her shoulder into the pommel of her sword and leaned into it while Bianca got her elbows dug into the ground and pushed. The wreckage surged up for a moment. Then something shifted, the heavy wood slid to a few inches to the side and Noemi’s sword broke under the strain. With no resistance she staggered forward, bounced off the side of the wreckage and slammed onto the ground. With a shake of her head she found herself staring up at the dragon as it shook its head in pain, spraying blood from its wounded eye everywhere. To her shock she found herself drooling.
Smacking herself once, shoving aside the bottomless pit opening in her stomach, she reached for what was left of her sword. Instead she found a hand that grasped her own. She turned to look into Bianca’s eyes. She was smiling as she said, “It’s okay, Emi. Thank you for staying.” Then her eyes turned sad. “Noemi Verdemonde. It is time for you to leave me. Go and be safe.”
For the first time she felt the power of Bianca’s gift as it closed in over her, forcing her to her feet and walking her away from her ward. From her friend. One step, then two steps away from the girl she’d found crying by a river and decided to protect no matter what the cost. Noemi felt the touch of Command now and knew it had never been a part of their friendship. Nor would she allow it to be the end of their friendship.
Noemi felt her own Gift surge within her, the blade she bore in her heart shredding the strings that dragged her away from Bianca and surging forth with dreadful purpose. She spun back to face the dragon and raised her hands to strike once more. A blade of light surged from them and carved downwards, striking the wings from one side of the wyrm’s body, cleaving down through the wreckage of the carriage and into the dirt beneath.
The serpent crashed to the ground, sliding towards them with terrible momentum. As it landed Noemi saw that a wiry man was still clinging to the spear sticking from the dragon’s eye but the impact sent him flying airborne again, flailing. The pieces of the carriage, carved into smaller bits now, bounced and clattered as the ground shook under the dragon’s impact and Bianca quickly scrambled out from under them, dragging Ignacio with her. With a pang Noemi realized she’d cut his left arm off by accident. She grabbed him by the waist and pulled him away as the dragon slid through the wreckage, still howling in pain.
The Herald wrenched himself free from them as they tried to flee, instead staggering forward to slap his body against that of the dragon as it slid by. The result was gruesome. The dragon’s scales cracked and burst, claw marks opened along its flanks and the entire left leg of the beast came away from its body. A moment later Ignacio pushed away from the creature, once again unmarked by the wounds he had carried. Yet it didn’t seem to matter to the dragon.
The creature’s remaining limb slammed into the ground and began to push it upright once more. Noemi tried to call up the blade in her soul again but found that she could not. Then the caravan guard came dropping out of the sky, one hand reaching as his body flashed into lightning once more. The bolt leapt forward and struck the spear again, slamming the dragon’s head back down to the ground. The guard returned to a solid form landing in a heap on the ground beside the lizard.
The wyrm heaved air through its nostrils as if gathering itself for another roar. But the glow had left its throat. It’s body remained at rest. The dragon’s last breath rattled out between its jaws and it came to its final rest. For a long moment the four of them that had survived the final onslaught just sat there and stared at it. Then Noemi raised up a hand and wiped the drool from her chin.
“Gather up anyone left, Reinaldo,” Aelfred rasped, watching the dragon nervously, as if it was about to surge to life again. “Get them on the wagons and get out of here.”
“What about Erasmus?” The other bravo asked. “And we should check to see if any of the Verdemonde men survived?”
“I’ll do it,” Aelfred snapped. “You just get the rest of them out of here. Understand?”
Reinaldo nodded and left. Gwendolyn started to follow him then turned back and grabbed Aelfred’s arm, looking him square in the eye. “Do not taste the body, Aelfred. Do you understand me? Not even a taste.”
He nodded and headed towards the dragon’s corpse. The bodies of Verdemonde’s men were scattered everywhere but Aelfred didn’t have to stop and look to tell they were all dead. As he got closer a scent like freshly baked bread wafted towards him on the breeze. He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his arm. For some reason the wyrm’s body was starting to look like a huge loaf of bread. He was so, so hungry. After a long, hard battle it couldn’t hurt to stop for just a bite to eat.
But he couldn’t. He was just there to check for survivors. The horns of the dragon towered over him as he made his way around the serpent’s head. Strange sounds reached his ears. A sound like crunching stone, moisture squelching and smacking flesh.
On the other side of the head he found four people tearing into the dragon’s body, gnawing on the scales, flesh and horns of the corpse and gulping it down. The sight brought him to a sudden stop. One of them, a girl in a dress caked with blood that plastered the cloth to her body, turned and regarded him with reptilian eyes for just a moment. Then she turned back to tearing into the dragon’s throat, shoving handfuls of flesh into her mouth with reckless speed. For a moment Aelfred watched them eat, his own stomach rumbling in his ears.
Then he turned around without even a taste and trudged back to the wagons. Reinaldo met him. “Did anyone survive?”
For a moment Aelfred stared at him blankly. Then the question made it through the cloud of hunger to his brain and he answered, “No.”
Ten minutes later the caravan’s survivors were gone. An hour later so was the dragon’s corpse. Four bloated, wild eyed figures staggered out of the valley, their enemy devoured.
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