Chasing Wings

by Hanna Dare

  He pointed at the tooth above the bar — it looked a bit fuzzy at this distance. “Not the real thing. Much scarier when you see it up close and there’s a whole mouthful of teeth alongside.”

  The men laughed like he’d said something funny. Tris shook his head. He was just as drunk as he had been that first night, though he hadn’t had that much. Maybe he needed to eat something? He’d hastily wolfed down a supper at the widow’s before heading to the tavern, but that seemed a long time ago now. He tried to signal the bartender, but the man was once again looking elsewhere. Typical. Aside from these two men, no one in this town was particularly interested in Tris or what he did.

  Tris stared into his half-empty tankard and sighed, feeling suddenly sorry for himself. “All I want is to see a real dragon again.”

  Petrus frowned. “Again?”

  Tris nodded eagerly. “I’m a dragon hunter too. Just, y’know, not the killing kind.”

  The two men exchanged a look. Tris hoped he hadn’t put his new friends off with all his talking. He may have actually said that last thought out loud, but they still watched him in a friendly and attentive way.

  “Funny thing is,” Jeffer said, “we know a fella like you. Talks about dragons all the time.”

  “You mean Gilbert?”

  “No, no. Name of Silvio. Right, Petrus?”

  “Aye,” Petrus agreed. “He’s one for the dragons all right. One of them hunter types. He can likely tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Tris felt hope blooming once again. “I should talk to him.”

  Jeffer leaned in. “He doesn’t live far from here. Silvio has a little place down by the water. We can take you to him.”

  “Really?”

  Petrus got up and Jeffer put a friendly hand on Tris’s arm. “‘Course we’ll take you there. Happy to do it. Why don’t we go right now?”

  Tris found himself leaning on his companions quite a bit as they led him out of the tavern. “Feet don’t sh-seem to be working right.”

  “Fresh air is what you need.” Petrus put an arm around Tris’s shoulders — a bit tightly, but Tris supposed he was concerned that he might trip on the uneven road.

  Tris tried to take some deep breaths, but his head only felt worse. The ground and unfamiliar buildings were lurching around him in a way that was kind of sickening. “Maybe I should go home an’ talk to this fella tomorrow.”

  “No, no,” Jeffer said. He was leading them away from the main road, down one of those dark, twisty streets Rivermouth seemed to specialize in. “You need to see Silvio now.”

  Tris tried to slow his feet, but Petrus pulled him on. “Why?” Tris asked.

  “Because he’s going on a trip tomorrow,” Jeffer said. “A long one, so you don’t want to miss him.”

  “No,” Tris said, trying to swallow back his sudden nausea. “Wait!”

  “No waiting,” Petrus snarled. “There’s a ship you need to be on— Oh, fuck!”

  He jumped back, releasing his hold just as vomit spewed out of Tris’s mouth. Tris bent over, throwing up onto the ground.

  “It’s on my fucking boots,” Petrus was saying. “I’m not carrying him all the way to the docks like that.”

  “I’ve got the sack,” Jeffer said, like it was a reasonable suggestion. “We’ll put him in that.”

  Enough of the conversation above him sunk in for Tris to realize this was very much not good. He needed to make a run for it.

  Tris darted to the side and immediately tripped over his own feet, falling to the ground. Luckily, he missed the puddle of vomit. Tris flailed about helplessly and began to laugh at the thought of himself being lucky.

  Jeffer reached for him. “All right, up with you.” But Tris couldn’t get up even if he wanted to. “Grab his legs.”

  “Evening, folks,” a man’s voice boomed out. “Out for a stroll?”

  Tris raised his head. In the dim light he could make out a tall man standing at the one end of the narrow road — an alley, really — that they were in. Jeffer and Petrus turned to face the stranger.

  “It’s all good,” Jeffer said pleasantly. “Our friend here had a bit too much to drink and we’re seeing him home.”

  “So mind your own fucking business and fuck off,” Petrus added.

  The man sighed. His hands were loose by his side. “And here I thought we could settle this like civilized folk, but you had to go and be rude.”

  Jeffer and Petrus glanced at each other while the man stared at them steadily. No one seemed to be moving, except for Tris, who managed a kind of half roll but still couldn’t get to his feet.

  Suddenly Petrus lunged forward. Tris saw a glint of metal and realized he had a knife in his hand.

  The stranger turned his body to avoid the blade. He clapped both hands on Petrus’s wrists, yanking him forward and at the same time bringing his knee up. The knee caught Petrus in the stomach and he doubled over.

  Jeffer started forward but stopped at the sudden ringing sound of steel being drawn. Tris blinked up at the man who was now holding a long sword in both hands. He leveled it at Jeffer and the wheezing Petrus.

  “Not your night,” the man said, his teeth flashing in a smile. “I suggest you both find a different mark.”

  Jeffer nodded coolly and turned away. Petrus scrambled down the alley after him, glaring back over his shoulder. “Asshole.”

  The man sheathed his sword and looked down at Tris. “All right?”

  Tris realized that he was staring, open-mouthed, and that he was being asked a question. “What just happened?”

  The man jerked his head in the direction the others had gone. “They were probably rounding up men for one of the ships. Press gang.” Tris was still staring blankly. “Anytime a ship comes into a port, some of the crew takes off. To avoid being short-handed the ship gets new men. They don’t much care if they’re willing or not. You would’ve woken up in the morning in the hold of a ship with a headache and a whole new career ahead of you.”

  Tris braced himself against the wall behind him and worked to haul himself to his feet. The man made no move to help. He was dressed in worn leather, his quilted coat long enough to hide the sheath of his sword. His hair was dark and hung down to his collar. He had a black mustache and a thin raised scar on his right cheek that stood out silvery-light against his tanned skin. He watched Tris’s slow progress to standing with some amusement.

  “I didn’t have so much to drink,” Tris said in his own defence.

  “You didn’t need to,” he said. “They slipped you something. I watched ’em do it at the bar.”

  Tris frowned, working it out slowly and with growing anger. “I’ve been going to that tavern every night for two weeks now. A regular. The bartender — nobody — said anything?”

  The man shrugged. “Bartender probably gets paid to look the other way. You’re not from around here, so they don’t much care what happens to you.”

  Tris rubbed at his mouth. “Nice.”

  “You want nice you should’ve stayed home in that little village you were going on about back in the tavern. Shadow’s Vale.”

  “You heard me?”

  “It wasn’t hard, you were loud. But that’s what first caught my attention. My employer’s from there.”

  Tris’s head felt heavy. “What?”

  “You need to sleep it off.” He took Tris’s arm, manoeuvring him around the vomit on the ground and toward the mouth of the alley. “Then we’ll talk.”

  “Wait,” Tris said. “What if you’re another one of those — what d’ya call ’em — press-gang people?”

  “Maybe, but this is for a job you’ll like.” The man showed his teeth in a smile. “The name’s Marius and I’m a dragon hunter.”

  Tris rode out with Marius the next morning. His head was smarting and he couldn’t quite believe his change in fortunes.

  “So there really were dragon hunters at that tavern,” he said as he urged his placid mare to keep pace with Marius’s large gray
horse. The town of Rivermouth faded away into the morning mist behind them as they rode into the tall forest along a narrow road.

  “Just me at the time.”

  “But you never said anything.”

  Marius was chewing on a twig and he shifted it from one side of his mouth to the other. “Real dragon hunters don’t go bragging.”

  “Not the one I used to know. That’s all he did.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Jack— I mean, Jaxon Durandus.”

  Marius gave a low whistle. “He was the real thing. Nowadays, though, you can’t be boasting. Finds are too rare and folk too greedy. Anyway Jaxon’s been dead and buried, what ten years now?”

  “Only four years dead, but I guess you could say he was buried for longer,” Tris said. “But what’s the name of your employer again? If he’s from Shadow’s Vale I must know him or of him.”

  “Old fellow by the name of Lambton. John Lambton, though don’t be thinking you’ll be on a first name basis. Lambton considers himself very grand.”

  Tris frowned. “I’m not sure I’ve heard of him.”

  “Really? He makes himself out to be all important to your valley. A lord or something like that.”

  Tris stared as Marius rode on unconcernedly. “You mean the Earl? I guess that was his name, but no one ever used it. Back home they just called him the Earl.” They called him the mad earl now, but Tris thought it best not to mention that.

  Marius ducked under a low-hanging branch, adjusting his wide-brimmed leather hat as he straightened back up. “Helps when there’s just the one.”

  Tris considered what it meant that the Earl employed a hunter and lived outside a town once known for dragons. “So he’s still looking for dragons?”

  “He’s not looking. He’s got one. Or so he says.”

  Tris’s hands jerked on the reins causing his horse to stop abruptly. He hastily clicked his tongue to get her moving again. “An actual dragon?”

  “Now that’s under debate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “But is the dragon alive?”

  Marius stroked his mustache. “He was when I delivered him.”

  “You caught a dragon?”

  “I delivered what the Earl requested.”

  “But how do you catch a dragon? They’re so big.”

  “You’ll see.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Maybe it’s because that’s all I’m going to say.”

  Marius rode on in his easy, unruffled way, while Tris tried not to jump off his horse in excitement. He wanted to pull Marius down and shake him and shout, tell me, tell me, like he had when he’d been a little boy waiting for a surprise. It hadn’t worked very well then and Tris expected it would go over even worse now.

  “So.” Tris managed to drop the eager grin that had unwillingly taken over much of his face and tried to sound coolly disinterested. “What am I supposed to do? Job-wise, I mean.”

  “Lambton needs some assistance in the care and feeding of his new acquisition. I’m hoping your Earl will have a soft spot for you, being from his hometown and all.”

  “I’d be looking after a dragon?” Tris thought his voice might have squeaked a little. “How—” He glanced at Marius’s profile. “I guess I’ll see, right?”

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  They rode for over half a day, stopping a few times, more for Tris’s bladder’s sake than anything else — he’d been trying to wash away the traces of whatever the men had dosed him with last night by drinking most of a waterskin. Marius rode on without saying much, switching from chewing on a twig to chewing on a strip of jerky around midday. Tris was left alone with his thoughts and they were racing.

  A dragon! An actual real-life, fire-breathing dragon. Tris could barely contain himself and shot occasional looks at Marius, hoping he would find himself in a more talkative mood as the ride went on. What color would it — she or he — be? Would the dragon talk to Tris?

  Then there was the problem of what the Earl wanted with the dragon. Tris could scarcely believe it was really the Earl — he’d seemed positively ancient when he’d lived in the valley and that had been eleven years ago. He’d been said to collect dragon bones and teeth and various parts that definitely came from dead dragons. And Marius’s presence wasn’t reassuring as to the Earl’s intentions toward the dragon.

  “Marius,” Tris asked. “Have you killed a dragon before?”

  Marius shifted slightly in his saddle to glance at Tris. “You think I kill and tell?”

  “Most would. Dragon hunters, I mean.”

  “I’ve been part of two successful hunts,” Marius said. He seemed a bit reluctant. “But I haven’t delivered the killing blow myself.”

  Tris tried to find some hope in that. Maybe Marius had doubts about killing dragons. It might even be that he didn’t realize that they were intelligent creatures. Old Jack had been of the opinion that dragons were little more than beasts and Tris had never been able to convince him otherwise. But this time would be different. Tris would talk to the dragon, and Marius and the Earl would be so amazed they’d let it — him or her — go. Then the dragon would be so grateful that Tris would be offered a gift. Everyone would expect that Tris would ask for gold, but all he wanted was the honor of a flight. The dragon would be even more impressed by that, and then they’d soar up into the sky and it would be glorious, even better than Tris remembered.

  Tris was so lost in happy fantasies that he was surprised to see that they had reached the end of the road. They came out from among the trees to see a wooden house — though house seemed too small a word for something so grand. It was tall — Tris counted four storeys stacked on top, each a slightly smaller version of the one beneath. Weathered shingles covered the steep roofs on every level. A rough black cliff loomed up behind it; the mansion seemed to be built into the rock face. The mist had not burned off here in the shadows of the cliff and white wisps drifted past the house, giving it a dreamlike feel. Though in all his dreaming, Tris had never expected a gloomy mansion lost in the woods.

  A long, low stable was a short distance from the house and beyond the building Tris could see a small cabin. Marius rode up to the stable and dismounted easily. He thumped on the closed double doors with his fist.

  “Yonah!” Marius’s voice boomed out. “Get your head out of your cup and tend to the horses.”

  A hearty, middle-aged man — Yonah, Tris assumed — came out from the stable. He was a bit unsteady on his feet and that along with the ruddy flush to his cheeks and nose, made Tris think Marius was right in saying the man had been drinking. Marius carelessly tossed him the reins.

  “Rub her down well,” Marius said warningly, stroking the nose of his horse. “I’ll be back to check.”

  Yonah bristled. “Don’t be telling my business.”

  Marius looked at him until the other man dropped his eyes. “I’ll get right to it,” Yonah muttered to the ground.

  “His too.” Marius jerked his head toward Tris, who was unfastening his rucksack from the back of the saddle. He slung the bag’s strap across his chest and gave Yonah a friendly smile.

  “Thank you,” Tris said as he handed Yonah the reins, but he just stomped away, leading the horses into the stable.

  Marius shouldered his own saddlebags and headed to the house. He headed not for the tall, carved door at the front but a smaller, more modest entrance on the side of the mansion. Tris was a bit relieved to find themselves entering a kitchen. It was a big kitchen, grander than even the one at his sister’s inn, but it felt a bit more homey and familiar.

  The woman who was in that kitchen, though, was in no way homey or familiar. Her mouth turned down at the sight of Marius and she rubbed her hands on her apron as she moved away from the vegetables she was chopping. A long chain hung with keys jangled among her brown skirts.

  Marius smirked at her without any sort of friendliness. “Helda.” />
  “Marius,” she said, equally unfriendly. “Wasn’t sure we’d see you back here.”

  “I’m still on the job.”

  “Are you now?” Helda sniffed without interest. She was thin and brisk; her manner not so much no-nonsense as nonsense would never dare occur in her presence. Her gray eyes took in Tris, who found himself standing up a bit straighter. “Is this all you’ve brought back with you? I’d hoped for some spices from town.”

  “Meet Tris, Helda.”

  Tris bobbed his head. “Ma’am.”

  Her thin mouth grew even thinner. “I hope Tris doesn’t mind bland food.”

  “I’m fine with any sort of food, ma’am,” Tris said hastily.

  She looked him up and down. “I can see that.”

  “Tris is here to help out with the—”

  Helda raised a hand sharply. “I don’t want to hear it. I’ll have no part of what’s going on back there. I told his lordship so.” She looked more closely at Tris. “I hope you’re made of tougher stuff than most. We can’t keep staff here for long. They get spooked and run off, leaving me with extra work.”

  “I, uh, guess I am. Tough, I mean,” Tris said. He was feeling a bit lost.

  “But no one’s as tough as you, Helda,” Marius said. “Like a piece of granite.”

  Helda, who did have a rather stony and weathered face, shrugged. “I just don’t care,” she said, turning away. “Whatever rich gentlemen want to get up to in private is none of my concern. Long as I get paid.”

  Marius grinned at Helda’s stiff back and then looked at Tris. “Well? Shall we meet himself and get you started? Is the Earl in his study?” he asked Helda.

  “Where else?” she replied without turning around, her hands busy with the vegetables.

  Tris felt increasingly uneasy, but he nodded and followed Marius.

  The rest of the house seemed appropriately grand and gloomy. Marius strode easily through the dark-paneled rooms, while Tris followed more cautiously, nervous about bumping into the carved furniture or getting dust from the road on the woven rugs or wall hangings. They headed toward the back of the house and it seemed that the ceiling grew a bit lower and the walls closer together.