The Last Dragon 2

by LeRoy Clary

  By the third day, I was ready to leap over the side and swim for shore, just to have something different to do. The walks on the deck were about the same distance as across our apartment at Crestfallen Castle, without exiting the door. There was no intrigue, nobody to match wits with, and Elizabeth steadfastly ignored us. There were no books to read, no music to listen to, and the conversation with other passengers was shallow and dull.

  Not that I longed for a fight with my sword or needed to practice using my new bow. I wished for a ride on my horse, a run in the hills, or a stroll along a mountain stream. Instead, I found myself huddled in my dank excuse for a cabin. If not for Emma and Anna, I might have thrown Kendra to the fishes and kept the other cabin for myself.

  The girls kept my mind active with their constant questions and interest in the smallest details. Children had never interested me before. Others were generally rambunctious, self-centered, uneducated, and boring. The pair of orphaned girls were different. Not only did they look like us, but their antics were also intelligent and amusing, and I found myself looking forward to being with them again when we were apart for any length of time.

  Their smiles welcomed and warmed me as their eyes lit up at my approach. Still, I wondered about dozens of items, not the least of which was that they didn’t seem to miss their parents. Perhaps that was unfair for me to say, but it was the truth. I couldn’t speak their language, nor them mine, but I would have expected sadness, tears, or wailing from children their age.

  By the fourth day, even the girls were weary of the dull routine and bland food, too. Their language skills had expanded to vocabularies of hundreds of common words, most of which identified items or mattered when eating. The girls ate portions exceeding the size mine, yet they remained thin as willow switches.

  They walked with me after our dinners, which had become my favorite part of the day. The sun sat low, the shadows long, and the air turned cooler. We were sailing to the Brown Lands, no matter the name of the kingdoms. There were fewer mountains, larger deserts, and the heat of the day had us hiding in our cabins, the chill of the night huddled under covers.

  My dark little hole was located below the waterline of the ship and remained cool through the afternoon heat. However, in the late afternoon or early evening, the dry air and breeze attracted all the passengers to the open decks. We gathered on the main deck, most of us hugging a rail and looking out at the endless sea. Now and then a bird flew past. Or a larger fish leaped and drew our attention. That was the extent of the excitement while sailing.

  Kendra said, “I could get used to this—if the food was edible, a band played my favorite music, a few friends accompanied me, and I owned a trunk of books. No, a few dozen close friends would have to be here to help, too. Not just a few.”

  She had a point. I hadn’t slept so well in years, nor so much. The constant motion of the ship, the calls of the sailors, and the fluffing sounds of the sails kept me in a state of perpetually wanting to nap. I was not sleepy, but my mind told me I should take the opportunity.

  I said to her, “You’d soon get bored.”

  “Not if the few dozen friends I spoke of were handsome, young, and male. Of course, all you’d need is one little girl with wild red hair that refuses to be tamed or combed to fill your days.” She made a face where she wrinkled her nose at me, and the girls laughed as if they knew what was going on.

  Perhaps they did. “We are due to dock early in the morning.”

  She looked at me with a tired expression this time. “And you believe that we need to be told that, so we can all go ashore and have a splendid time in Trager. Trust me, we will be ready long before you.”

  I returned her steady gaze. “Then, it is settled. We are all leaving the ship?”

  “Why would there be any question about that? The girls cannot stay here alone. We have shopping to do, food to buy, and hats. We need hats to keep the hot sun off our faces.” Kendra said in an almost desperate tone, her words coming in a torrent.

  “We will have most of a day, almost until dark to shop. From conversations with other passengers, the city does not sound inviting. It’s constructed of wood. Old wood that is dry and easily burned. Parts of the city have caught fire in recent years and have not been rebuilt.”

  “We will avoid those areas.”

  “The political climate is one of strife and conflict. An internal war, from what they say.” It wasn’t as if I wanted her to stay aboard, but the excitement of shopping had to be quelled. We were not going to Trager for pleasure. The danger was real and pervasive.

  “Carry your sword,” she advised me.

  She would carry her new blades hidden in her sleeves. Although she hadn’t had much time to practice throwing them, they were a surprise to attackers and might provide a few extra seconds of time. If they struck their targets as planned, they might reduce any odds by two.

  The idea of planning a trip ashore in a military fashion would sound outlandish if discussed out loud in my home kingdom of Dire. In Trager, it seemed prudent. “I’ve spent several mornings and afternoons in the salon listening to conversations and even joining in a few. I played blocks at the gambling table a few times as an excuse to talk.”

  “Win?” she asked, more out of curiosity than for any coins that may have changed hands.

  “No. Winners are freer with their conversation, so I intentionally lost.”

  “Of course. Did you use magic to manipulate the game?”

  Again, I nodded.

  “Good. Now, why did you continue playing? Boredom or because you learned something interesting?”

  My response was slow. “Boredom, for sure. But Trager is whispered about, never spoken aloud without a glance around to see who might be listening. There are hints the fires were not natural occurrences.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she considered what I’d not said. “Mages?”

  “Yes. Again, mages.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  T he conversation with Kendra lagged as she let the hints and suppositions swirl around in her mind. Her expression turned flat, her eyes squinted a little as if she could see something far off. She was always better than me at coming to accurate deductions when provided only a small amount of factual information. While I waited for her conclusions, my eyes drifted over her as if for the first time, trying to see her as others did. She was taller than most women from Dire, thinner, too. Almost delicate. Her skin darkened with even limited exposure to the sun until her arms and face were the shade of brown tea. Her thick hair resisted the wind blowing off the sea.

  It was not as if I’d never looked at her before but standing alongside Emma and Anna enhanced her features. The girls were simply smaller copies.

  She said, “Where would mages in other lands draw their power from? Not from Mercia, for sure. It has to be too far away. They must have a closer source of essence. We still do not know precisely what essence is, you know. We only know mages can make use of it.”

  She had hit on one of the two topics that concerned me, although I didn’t consider myself a mage. Others might dispute that and decide I was a weak one, but still a mage.

  Kendra continued, “The common thread in each city and kingdom seems to be the rightful rulers are being supplanted by mages and their appointees. We know of at least three and suspect another.”

  “But where are they getting essence to use their magic? I thought you freed the last dragon.”

  “There are also the issues of the Wyverns and Waystones.” She glanced around to ensure we were alone before continuing. A ship has a lot of ears in a small space. “There is more to them than we know, and of magic in general. You aren’t the only one to listen to others talking on this ship. A belligerent woman from Trager mentioned the old ways as for how to travel quickly from place to place. As we discussed, the two names, Waystones, and ways sound too similar to be an accident. Her statement almost confirms what we suspect.”

  I said, “The two Waystones we’ve seen have
been old. Ancient. The carvings were weathered and worn like they were hundreds of years old.”

  “Is it possible there was another civilization or manner of life long ago that made them? One more advanced in the use of magic?” she asked.

  “One more advanced than us? One that maybe lived in conjunction with dragons and other mythical creatures? I guess so, but if that is true, are the Waystones all that is left of them?”

  Kendra’s slight smile widened. It was a new idea to her, one she liked. Emma tugged at my shirt and pointed. In the distance to the west, the vague outline of the shore merged with the water at the horizon. Clouds banked against it, while the sky over the sea remained blue. It was the first land we’d seen in five or six days but felt like twenty.

  “Thank you, Emma,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied as clearly as if Common was the only language she knew.

  We agreed to meet for the morning meal and discuss our questions again after sleeping on them. Kendra would keep the girls in the new cabin, while I spent the afternoon and evening in the salon at the gaming tables again where I might pick up more useful information. The night before arriving in port could have passengers gossiping about Trager, and I wanted to hear all they said.

  The salon was filled with more people than at any time since sailing. It seemed everyone was in a partying mood as the prospect of reaching a port in the morning brought a little excitement to the passengers. The wine flowed. People smiled. Later, after the sun sank behind the land on the right side of the ship with a spectacular display of reds and oranges, they gathered into small groups and discussed future plans, and the docking of the Gallant the following morning. A few would leave the ship and never see each other again, but tonight all were fast friends.

  At one table in a corner, four men played the nightly game of tiles. Since I had been a loser for three previous nights, they welcomed me eagerly and asked that I join them. My seat allowed me to keep my back to the windows and watch the room—and listen as I played. The voices were louder than normal, and the subjects all dealt with the following day.

  It would have been nice to hear a fellow passenger say what would bind the mystery of mages, magic, dragons, and politics together in a manner that would answer all of my unasked questions. That didn’t happen. However, I did hear more tales of the corrupt city government, the decay in the city of Trager, and how the population had declined and continued declining. People were moving away or dying. However, nobody said where. Many were killed, often in the streets by city guards, ex-city guards, and throngs of thieves and criminals, some of them very young.

  The players at the table tonight were excited and playing too aggressively. They over-played their hands. Coins came my way despite my efforts to lose a few, despite our games were for small stakes. A bellicose man who had relentlessly berated my poor play a few nights before joined the game. He was again rude and arrogant with his success. Long after nightfall, he found himself with a hand facing only me in the game. The pot was larger than normal. I bet a small amount. He raised, and I did the same, which caught his attention. His mouth never stopped insulting me. My anger grew.

  My hand was a good one. I bet again. It quickly became the largest pot since sailing, by far. Every player and observer in the lounge watched intently, a small crowd gathered behind us. A year’s pay for a tradesman lay in the center of the table, which normally held the price of a few meat pies at most. Smalltalk ceased. The room grew utterly and strangely quiet. The combative player spoke again, warning me of how I’d lost to him before, so he advised me to throw in my hand and allow him to own the pot.

  Tiny beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. His hands shook. He needed six spots on the next tile he drew, as all could see, so his odds of winning were one-in-ten. My small magic told me his next tile would have the six he desired—and I would lose not only the money on the table but the respect of others. I would also suffer his public rancor aimed at me. However, I would not use my magic to make the minor change.

  He drew his six spots. He sneered my way. To remain even with him and remain in the game, I needed four spots. The tile I drew held only two, so I lost when I displayed them. I held back. There were still two options. Use my skill, not my magic. Without hesitation, as any over-eager player who had drawn a strong hand and a history of losing would do, I broke into a wide smile and confidently raised the bet with all the accumulated coins in front of me.

  The man had expected me to fold or make a minimal bet, at most.

  He blanched and lifted his eyes to meet mine, to see if I was attempting a bluff. I smiled wider yet said nothing. He now had two choices. He could use almost all of his coins that he still retained to continue playing—or fold. Folding would give me the pot. If he bet, I could change the number of spots on either his tile or mine. I could . . . but still determined I wouldn’t.

  He looked hard at me, trying to determine if I bluffed. I still smiled like an inane bumpkin from a farm in the wilds. Neither of our expressions changed. His was one of disbelief and anger. None of the players or spectators moved or spoke. The tension grew.

  “You got lucky,” he snarled as he threw his tiles to the center of the table in submission. “I’ll win that back and more before the night is over.”

  The conversation around the room picked up again, but I saw triumphant expressions on two other player’s faces. They were like cats about to pounce and glad I’d beaten him. The small pile of coins in front of the angry man left him vulnerable to anyone willing to bet heavily. He’d have to win against players willing to bet large sums against him or fold his hands and drive him out of the game. It took only six hands to break him, none of them my doing.

  He stood and announced he would be back with more money. His gait staggered as he left, through no fault of the motion of the ship. A spectator who had played with us several nights was invited to take the empty seat before the other could return, leaving him no seat to claim. The game returned to small-stakes and good-natured humor.

  I didn’t wait for the bellicose man to return. The talk around the table was exciting but without substance. I gathered my coins into my purse and stood, taking my leave with good humor. The night air outside was warm and humid, warmer than any in Dire, and before sleeping a walk around the deck would do me good to clear my head of the wine and concentration of playing the game.

  Instead of strolling to the bow and back down the other side of the ship as most travelers did, I found a seat on a hatch cover near mid-ship and sat, watching the stars in the moonless sky. There seemed to be more of them at sea. A few people were about. Not many. Most were probably sleeping in preparation for docking in the morning. Others were drinking, gaming, or socializing.

  The uneven soft wind popped the sails. As it did, the mast creaked, the lines stiffened, and the air whispered past all of it with rustles and hisses. Despite the boredom of a sea voyage, it can also be relaxing and mind-clearing. When the sound of material moving against material made itself known to my consciousness, my ears brought me alert. Someone was sneaking up behind me—and was very close. I smelled him, stale and sour.

  Whirling, I found the tile player who had lost to me, a short club clutched in his fist. He charged. I ducked under his wild swing and smashed my fist into his lower back as he roared past me. The blow was solid, and painful for him. Worse, as he reached the side of the ship, a shadow stepped out and shoved his shoulder, increasing his stumbling speed.

  He hit the railing and tumbled over. It happened so fast I couldn’t have saved him in any circumstances unless I was a full mage and could levitate a man below water. The shadow stepped into the light, and it was the man named Will, the one who was sent to look out for us.

  He said, “Sorry. I should have intercepted him sooner and knocked him out and placed him in his cabin. His death is on my hands, not yours.”

  I heard no real remorse in his tone, no regret in killing him, but only in that he hadn’t performed
his job as well as he believed he should. He turned and disappeared as Damme and Hannah walked through the door from the dining room. They were the couple from Dagger who had helped me learn a dozen words of the Kondor language. It should have been more, but my capacity for the language was poor.

  “Good evening, Damon. Not feeling well?” Damme asked.

  “Why do you ask?” I said.

  “You appear pale and agitated. The result of winning that hand of tiles? The entire ship is talking about it,” Hannah said in her halting Common.

  Damn. That was my only thought. I’d had a confrontation with the belligerent gambler, and now he’d fallen overboard, and all knew of the confrontation. Some aboard the ship were sure to connect the two instances. I said, “I don’t like people like that. They scare me.”

  “A good reason to stay away from him. Are you planning on going ashore tomorrow?”

  “Yes. All of us are to do a little shopping,” I said to clarify my answer and hopefully to throw a little confusion on the issue. I didn’t want to come across as someone who would throw a man overboard.

  Hannah said, “If you must go there, be careful. The city is full of people wanting to rob visitors. Wear a visible weapon and be prepared to use it—or remain on board. Nobody will think less of you for doing so.”

  Her suggestions were reasonable and made sense. Too bad I’d ignore them. Well, not all of them, but most. We said goodnight and I went to my cabin and slept as well as any night in my past. On the way, I spoke to three people, so they would remember me, and told each I was going to my cabin early.

  The next morning, I was at the rail at the stern where passengers above deck were again regulated to one small space, so we’d be out of the way of the working crew. It was either that, remain in my poor excuse for a cabin, sit in the drab dining room, or the closed-in salon. We sailed into the Bay of Trager as I waited for the girls to appear.