Bershad nodded. “How did you get your bars?” he asked.
Vash looked at him. Dark eyes hard to read.
“Same way you did.”
“You were at Glenlock.”
“I was.”
Bershad had heard that Elden Grealor tattooed a good chunk of the Dainwood wardens who’d helped him massacre Wormwrot Company. It was one of the many reasons he’d spent the first few years of his exile blind drunk.
“I’m sorry.”
Vash shrugged. “Not like you didn’t suffer the consequences, too. But you should know I’m the only Dainwood man who was picked up by Kerrigan. Everyone else died ugly.”
Bershad opened his mouth to say more, but Vash stopped him with an open hand. “We’ll take you to the gate, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Yeah, all right.”
Wendell picked his way back through the field, bear cloak still in hand.
“She said she didn’t need it,” he explained. “But that Felgor could have it.”
Bershad glanced at Ashlyn. She wore less clothing than anyone, but seemed the most comfortable in the morning chill. That dragon thread might not produce lightning anymore, but it still had power, and it was flowing through her body.
“Well, she’s half Papyrian,” Bershad said. “They’re better with the cold.”
Felgor and Goll came back around the bend, hands dirty with dark soil from the business of burying the salted bear meat. They were passing another jug of rum back and forth. Bershad had no idea where it had come from.
“The meat’ll be safe!” Felgor called, already seeming to have burned off his hangover with more alcohol. “Old Felgor knows how to bury a bear better than anyone.”
Goll just shook his head. “We’ll reach the gate in, what, four days?”
“Six,” Wendell corrected.
“Huh.” Goll considered his jug. “Gonna have to start rationing this a little more carefully.”
Then he took another massive gulp.
* * *
Wendell led the way across the island, picking along rocky cliffs, dipping into drainages, and following pathways through thick forests. He moved naturally between game trails and rivers, adjusting to whatever obstacle they encountered with natural ease.
“Is it true that you cut off a Red Skull’s head and shat down the neck hole?” Wendell asked.
“No.”
“Did you throw a spear from the top of Mount Kuldish and hit a Blackjack twenty leagues away?”
“No.”
“Well, you did kill two dragons in the same day, though, right? One in Levenwood, and then one in Vermonth?”
Bershad hesitated. “Yeah. That one’s true.”
“I knew it! Gods, I wish I was a hero like you.”
“No you don’t, kid.”
Wendell ignored him. “What about the Needle-Throated Verdun outside of Otter Rock? I heard that you threw a spear through its skull and then pissed in the hole.”
“Where did you hear that story?” Vash asked, frowning at his son.
“From Goll.”
Goll gave a shrug. “It true?”
“I don’t shit or piss inside the dragons that I kill,” Bershad said. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Dunno. But if it ain’t true, why are there so many stories about it?”
“Because tavern drunks are morons,” Bershad said.
They kept walking. Bershad probably could have gotten them north without the boy, but it would have taken forever. The landscape was a wild mess of impassable forest, valleys choked with thornbushes, and thick swamp. But Wendell seemed to know the land like a farmer knows his fields—able to find a workable path no matter how dense the undergrowth.
“How’d you learn the island so well?” Bershad asked the boy.
“Dad won’t let me go on reavings. So, I’m stuck on the island all year.”
“You’re too young for reavings,” Vash said.
Wendell shrugged. “Anyway, Naga Rock gets boring, so I explore.”
“Kid, you are the only person I know who could get bored in Naga Rock,” Goll said. “The theater troupes and companion caves alone are enough to keep a man busy for weeks.”
“I’ve seen all the plays a hundred times. And Dad won’t let me go into the companion caves, either.”
“You’re—”
“Too young,” Wendell finished. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Your father is wise to make you wait,” Goll said. “The Naga companions are very … advanced. Not a good choice early on in your life.”
“Advanced? I like the sound of that,” Felgor said. “Maybe we can visit when we’re done saving the world?”
“What’s the matter, didn’t get your fill back at the Squatting Loon?” Bershad asked.
“That was ages ago,” Felgor said.
By the time the sun had reached its highest point in the sky, Felgor and Goll had emptied another jug of rum. Goll immediately produced a fresh one from his pack, but Bershad stopped him from opening it.
“How about you two give that a rest until sundown?”
“But I am still thirsty,” Goll protested.
“Drink some water, then.” Vash slapped a canteen against the Lysterian’s chest. “I agree with Bershad. We do not know what’s out here.”
“The Almirans are ruining our party,” Felgor said. “Well, if the liquid entertainment is canceled, I want to hear a story about these demons. They the kind that sneak into the bedchambers of bad children, or what?”
Goll’s face turned serious. “You jest, Balarian. But they are real. I’ve seen one.”
“What did he look like?” Felgor asked.
“Well, the Almiran stories always have them with red eyes and ashen skin. But it’s the opposite. This one had green, glowing eyes and waxy skin that was all swollen and puffy around the cheeks and throat. Kind of like a maggot’s flesh.”
“You’re talking out your ass,” Bershad said.
“I am not.”
“What did he do?” Felgor asked.
“Why are you humoring him?” Ashlyn whispered.
“I like scary stories,” he whispered back, then turned back to Goll. “Well?”
“First off, it was a woman.”
“A demon woman? Oh, now this story is getting good. Was she pretty?”
Goll frowned. “I just finished telling you about the eyes and weird skin.”
“Still.”
“No. She was not pretty.” He sipped his water. “Her clothes were all rotten. And there was this smell. Like a root cellar that’s flooded—damp and foul. She stared at me from across a clearing for a long time, just looking at me. Then she muttered strange words.”
“A curse?” Felgor offered.
“Possibly. I didn’t understand her, but I remember the words. Oska. Katlan.”
“Definitely sounds like a curse to me.”
“That’s not a curse,” Ashlyn said. “That’s Grazilandish. It means ‘bone’ and ‘flesh.’”
“Hm, interesting,” Felgor said. He took a drink from the canteen, thinking. “So, it was a demon from Graziland who wanted dinner.”
“That’s a pretty strange way to ask for food,” Bershad said.
“Well, it’s not like Graziland demons are going to have good table manners.” Felgor motioned to Goll. “Well? What happened next?”
“She rushed me. Moved faster than a fox chasing a rabbit, too. But I had my axe with me.”
“You killed her?” Bershad asked.
“You can’t kill demons,” Felgor said. “That’s obvious.”
“Why not?” Wendell asked.
“Because they’re not real,” Bershad muttered.
“No,” Felgor said. “Because their souls are locked in a metal box that Aeternita keeps in a rucksack underneath her bed.”
“Couldn’t say if you can kill ’em either way,” Goll continued. “I gave her a tap with the axe, but it was a glance shot off the shoulder. She hissed, and d
isappeared into the woods. I picked around the clearing for a long time, looking for her. But I couldn’t even find footprints.”
“That’s it?” Felgor asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s a pretty disappointing climax,” Felgor said. “Usually with these stories there’s a hex … or someone from her past abused her and got away with it. A local lord or an uncle, generally. Then you have to avenge her, and in return Aeternita comes down and returns her soul so she can rest peacefully.”
“What are you talking about, Balarian?”
“I’m explaining how to tell a decent ghost story.”
“This is not a ghost story. It is just what happened.”
“Well, beef it up a little next time. That was mediocre at best.”
* * *
They had bear jerky for dinner. Despite not eating much during the day, Bershad lost his hunger for the tough meat after a few bites. Ashlyn turned her portion down, and instead dug around inside Goll’s pack until she found a cast-iron pan, which she coated with bear-fat grease then filled with onions and mushrooms.
She put it over the fire and within a few minutes the fragrance of frying onions filled the campsite. Bershad liked having a better sense of smell—but a side effect was that it made her cooked vegetables infuriatingly enticing.
“All right, all right, you were right about the vegetables,” he said to Ashlyn when she bit into a mushroom while giving him a self-satisfied look. “I want some.”
“Wouldn’t mind a bite or two myself,” Felgor muttered.
“There’s enough for everyone,” Ashlyn said. “Throw the bear meat into the pan.”
They ate in a happy, ravenous silence. When Goll had finished his portion, he licked his fingers and looked around at everyone with a huge grin on his face.
“What’re you so happy about?” Vash asked him.
“Never in my whole life did I think a queen of Terra would make me dinner.”
“That wasn’t a dinner,” Ashlyn said. “That was a pile of vegetables.”
“An exciting experience all the same.”
“Don’t get too excited. This is the only thing she knows how to cook,” Bershad said.
“Careful, dragonslayer,” Ashlyn teased.
“Always, Queen.”
“So, what’s the deal with you two?” Goll asked. “You married or something?”
Bershad looked at Ashlyn, who raised an eyebrow.
“Came close once,” he said. “But things went a little sideways.”
“Sideways,” Goll repeated. “How’s that?”
“Oh, Silas got exiled and spent fourteen years killing dragons,” Ashlyn said. “I married a drunk Gorgon Valley lord who got himself drowned on a pleasure barge. Then I inherited a kingdom that I lost last summer trying to save dragons from extinction.”
“Sideways,” Vash repeated. “That’s one way to put it.”
“In Lysteria, we would call that a proper goatfuck,” Goll said.
“Almira, too,” Vash agreed.
“Did you save them?” Wendell asked Bershad.
“Huh?”
“The dragons. Did you save them?”
Bershad looked at Ashlyn. “Yeah. We did.”
“How’d that go, exactly?” Goll asked. “Because I heard a crazy story out of Taggarstan that the Flawless Bershad got the shit beat out of him by the vampire, but nobody believed it ’cause there’s another story floating around you killed the emperor of Balaria and set the palace on fire, which must be dragonshit, too.”
“No, no,” Felgor said. “You’re missing the most important part, where I saved Silas from certain and painful death. Then, we burned the palace down together!”
“Aye, right. Your proxy law again, is it?” Goll asked.
“Exactly.”
“The craziest story I heard doesn’t belong to the Flawless Bershad,” Vash said, speaking up. “It belongs to her. Word is she toasted Cedar Wallace’s entire army with fireballs from her eyes. Turned ’em all to smoking meat by herself.”
Bershad turned to Ashlyn. Shrugged. “Hey, at least this version of the story has the fireballs coming out of your eyes.”
“It wasn’t fireballs,” Ashlyn said, annoyed. “It was lightning. Well, a form of controlled current, anyway.”
“Sounds like demoncraft.”
“If you want.”
Wendell tucked his knees to his chest. Looked scared. “You’re a witch?”
Ashlyn smiled at the kid. “There’s no such thing as witches.”
Felgor quickly launched into a Balarian story about witches. Something about covens and spells that involved baby goats and a big cauldron filled with brandy. It sounded like he was making it up on the spot.
The pull of the dragon was nagging at Bershad. He stood up.
“I won’t go far,” he whispered to Ashlyn before heading into the thick of the forest.
The Nomad followed.
He came to a small lake with glass-calm water that was so clear, he could see the mossy bottom despite the fact that it was thirty strides deep. Dozens of tiny blue fish darted around the shallows. There was a small, rocky island in the middle. Bershad stripped naked—propelled by an itchy, primal sensation that made his clothes feel foreign and rough—and dove into the water.
Swam toward the island.
The cold water shocked his body. But it felt good to wash off the layers of sweat and grime and grease—like carving the dirty rind off a ripe fruit. He felt alert. Awake.
He pulled himself onto the island and found a shelf of flat rocks that still radiated heat from a day in the sun. Sat down and closed his eyes. Listened to the forest. Focused on his connection to the dragon above him, which felt like a pit in his stomach that was tied to a string running up to the sky.
Back in Nulsine, he’d shooed the Nomad off when she’d wandered closer to him. But there was no reason to do that now, and he was curious what would happen. Maybe Ashlyn was rubbing of on him.
“I know you’re tired, girl,” he whispered. “You can rest. It’s safe.”
The Nomad kept her spot in the sky for a few minutes, then slowly started to descend.
Bershad’s senses sharped as the dragon got closer to him. The swarming crackle of fish heartbeats came alive against the bottoms of his feet. The lethargic, thumping pulses of painted turtles that were hiding in the mucky shallows throbbed along his ribs. The rustle and scrape of rodent claws on leaves filled his ears and prickled the skin on his neck. A fox was hiding from a wild boar that had mud and raccoon shit caked down his back. A crow was tucked against the trunk of a pine tree, trying to sleep.
And beyond all of that, he could feel five human heartbeats sitting around a fire. Smell the rum on their breath.
“Gods,” Bershad muttered, lost in the swarm of smells and sounds and feelings that radiated across his naked skin.
There was a crash of snapping wood. Bershad opened his eyes to see the Nomad had dived into the trees and snapped up the wild boar in her jaws. She killed it with a quick bite to the back of the skull. Ate the boar in three quick mouthfuls. Bershad could taste the dirty hide and tough meat in his own mouth.
When she was done eating, the Nomad licked her maw clean, then gazed at Bershad from across the water with curious, glowing eyes. It was strange to see such vulnerability in a dragon. For years, all he’d gotten from the great lizards was a predator’s stare.
The Nomad opened her wings, preparing to leap back into the air.
“No need to rush off so soon. Ain’t going anywhere tonight.”
The Nomad hesitated. Cocked her head as if she expected a trick, but didn’t depart. He studied her body. There was a large metal barb hooked into her shoulder—the remnant of someone’s attempt to spear her. Broken arrows peppered her flank. Dozens of other scars were cut into her snout and throat.
“Guess you’ve had some experience with dragonslayers. Makes you cautious. But I’m done with all that. Promise.”
T
he dragon took a little more time making up her mind, but eventually she spread her wings and flapped across the water like a hawk switching hunting perches. She landed on the little island. Curled up against the warm rock slab like a dog beside a fire on a winter’s night.
Fell asleep.
Bershad stayed on the island for hours, letting his connection to the dragon grow stronger. He could feel her steadily drawn breaths in his chest. Sense her blood warm from the rocks. Her energy and strength returned, and so did Bershad’s. He knew he should go back to the others. Ashlyn would understand, but Felgor would get drunk and start worrying. Still, in that moment, he couldn’t bear to leave the dragon’s side. Something about the proximity felt natural and right. Like going home.
So he stayed.
16
VERA
Balaria, Burz-al-dun, Skyship Construction Hangar
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Kira asked Freemon Pence, the chief minister of fisheries and ponds.
“Quite,” Pence responded, looking up at the skyship.
Above them, Kira’s royal skyship was raised onto several large platforms. The hull was made from a complicated interweaving of dragon bones and steel, but it was only halfway complete, allowing Vera to see into the lower holds, which were filled with a complicated mess of machinery, gears, pistons, and pipes of a thousand different sizes.
The wings were both a hundred strides long. There were black sails made from dragon leather pinned underneath them, no doubt ready to be dropped and opened by one of the confounding mechanisms inside the bowels of the ship. The hull was built from bleached-white dragon bone, which Kira had requested be painted blue.
“I heard a rumor that the royal engineer preserves the dragon bones in the Heart of the Soul Sea,” Pence said. “That he has some factory hidden among those dragon-infested islands. Is there any truth to that?”
“I don’t know,” Kira said lightly. “The details of the construction process don’t interest me. Just the outcome.”
There was a score of men at work on the ship. Some worked from the wood scaffolding that had been erected around the skyship. Others were clipped into leather harnesses and hanging from the gunwale—laboring with wrenches and dragon-oil torches. All of them wore heavy leather aprons fit for blacksmiths. Their thickly muscled forearms were covered in grease, their faces obscured by strange gray masks made of leather. Instead of eyeholes, there were twin black orbs over their eyes. Vera didn’t understand how any of them could see what they were doing.
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