Isle of Dragons (Quest of the Nine Isles Book 1)

by C. Greenwood

  “Water please,” I said, smacking my hand down harder than I meant to on the end of a long counter stacked with tankards. I leaned my spear against an empty stool and sat down. Behind the counter, a thick-waisted woman with curly red hair looked me over with only a slight curiosity. Perhaps she was used to unusual sights. Certainly some of her customers looked rougher and stranger than me.

  She didn’t ask me to pay for the drink, which was a good thing because I had no money. She grabbed a tin mug and filled it from a pitcher. As she moved around, I noticed that her shoulder dipped awkwardly with every step. The reason was soon obvious. She had a wooden leg with a round knob at the end. It made a sharp thudding noise with every step. I tried not to stare, as I thanked her for the drink.

  The water wasn’t cold or fresh. It tasted like it had been sitting in the pitcher all day. But none of that mattered as long as it wetted my parched throat. I drank long and gratefully.

  It wasn’t until I had drained the mug that I became aware again of the attention I was attracting from the others seated around me. My appearance had drawn plenty of stares outside. But this was the first time I realized it wasn’t only my horns, scales, and spear that people were looking at. I had forgotten about my magic hand, shimmering with its reddish-purple light as it clasped my tin mug.

  Even the peg-legged redhead behind the counter had noticed. “What happened to it?” she asked with frank curiosity.

  There was no use pretending I didn’t know what she meant. I thought about lying but couldn’t really think of any reason I should. The truth would mean nothing to anyone here.

  “I touched a forbidden stone,” I said honestly. “Its magic transferred to my hand and set off a chain of events that caused a lot of people to die. I also sank an island.”

  The woman lifted a skinny eyebrow. “Did you now?” she asked in a skeptical tone.

  I couldn’t blame her for thinking I was inventing a tall tale. In a place like this, she probably heard all kinds of wild nonsense. But that was all right. I didn’t need her to believe me.

  I changed the subject. “I’ve come here looking for someone, the sister of my mother. Do you happen to know of a Thaleia Seastrider living near here? Or maybe she never settled here, but I think she at least traveled through Port Unity. It might have been many years ago.”

  The woman shrugged. “Can’t say I know of any Thaleia hereabouts. We get all sorts passing through, and I can’t remember all of them. But Seastrider, now that’s a name familiar in every tavern and gambling den around the port. It belongs to a cheat and a rogue, one Basil Seastrider.”

  “Basil,” I repeated thoughtfully. I had never heard the name. Could he be the sailor Thaleia had run away with all those years ago? Had he taken our family name? I supposed it was possible.

  The redheaded woman suggested, “Maybe if you find Basil, he can tell you something of your aunt. Just be wary of believing everything he says. That one can spin a tale with the best.”

  “Where can I find this Basil?” I asked.

  “Most likely he’ll be around The Lucky Anchor,” she answered, “one of the few places where he can still get credit.”

  After obtaining directions to that location, I was eager to be on my way. But one thing stopped me, the delicious smell of baking bread that came from a near doorway. There must be a kitchen on the other side. I could hardly remember the last time I had eaten anything but undercooked fish.

  I told the redhead I had no money but would trade her something for a meal. Even as I said it, I mentally ran over everything I had on me, realizing how little I carried that was of value. My single hoop earring was worth less than the tin mug in my hands. It would buy me nothing. I still carried the tiny minuteglass, the ancient artifact stolen from the depository of Corthium, in my beltpouch. But its value was too much to trade for a simple meal. I must hold onto it for something more urgent. A thin, hammered metal armband around my left bicep was a little better. It was etched with interlinked circles, representing each of the Nine Isles, a common design on jewelry and architecture in Corthium.

  “I could give you this,” I said, sliding the band off my arm and placing it on the counter between us.

  The woman reached for it.

  But suddenly, unexpectedly, a large and thick-knuckled hand clapped down over the armband, preventing her from picking it up.

  “The girl should not trade a thing of such value for so little,” drawled an unfamiliar voice.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The grime-encrusted hand with its bulging tendons and jagged fingernails shoved the armband back along the bar to me.

  Startled at the interruption, I followed the hand to the face above it. Bright, cunning eyes sharp as twin blades glittered out at me. Those eyes held all the color and the coldness of a stormy sea. Their owner was probably only thirty or forty years of age, but his leathery skin, battered by wind and sun, looked older. A pale scar split his eyebrow and trailed down his stubbled cheek. His mouth, although fixed into something like a twisted smile, managed to convey a feeling of menace. If I had seen nothing but his face, I would have sensed he was a person to be avoided. But the rest of him completed the warning.

  His was a figure very similar to the rougher sort of sailors I had seen fighting outdoors. Only this man was more eye-catching, more commanding than any of the rest. Although he was little taller than me, his stance projected the confidence of one used to being obeyed. His broad shoulders strained the blue coat he wore, a coat with long tails in the back that reminded me somehow of a peacock. Despite his unshaven chin and the grime ingrained in his hands, that coat was a strange bit of vanity, its front adorned with gold braid and shiny buttons. It must have been fine once but had clearly seen better days. The same could be said for the wide-brimmed hat he wore at a crooked angle over his brow. It had a decorative buckle above the brim, and drooping from it were the brightly colored plumes of exotic birds. Numerous weapons protruded from the wide leather baldric crossing his chest and from the equally thick belt around his waist. The handles of still more daggers peeked out from inside his coat and above the tops of his tall boots.

  The last detail to catch my eye was a single ornament hooked through the lobe of one of his ears. The silver decoration dangled nearly to his shoulder and was worked into the shape of a hanging skeleton. Its tiny bones shivered slightly at every movement of the wearer. I knew from childhood stories that skulls and skeletons were the symbols of sea pirates. Everything about this newcomer fit the description of the dangerous pirates I had heard tales of.

  I was immediately on my guard.

  But the pirate, if he was one, wasn’t looking at me anymore.

  “You wouldn’t want to cheat a stranger, little more than a child, out of her little bit o’ shiny,” he said ironically to the redheaded woman. “Let me offer this instead.”

  He produced a filthy pouch and dumped a few jingling coins out onto the bar.

  Behind the counter, the woman looked disappointed at the change of plans. But she accepted his money. Was it my imagination or was her manner slightly uneasy, as she collected the coins. Was she intimidated by the pirate?

  As the redhead disappeared into the kitchen, I turned reluctantly toward the newcomer.

  “Thank you for intervening,” I said politely. “The armband is one of the few things I have left from a home that has been destroyed. I wouldn’t have enjoyed giving it up.”

  “I can see why you value it,” he answered, watching me slide it back onto my arm. “I know the symbol etched upon it. If that ornament was truly made on one of the Nine Isles, it be a rare thing.”

  I stared. “What do you know about the Nine Isles?” I demanded, forgetting my initial wariness of this man.

  His eyes flickered to where my hand rested atop the counter, shimmering with magic. Quickly, his gaze moved on.

  “Only what rumor and legend tell me,” he said. “There be stories of a cluster of small islands where a race of fierce winged peopl
e of extraordinary appearance live. All but the largest of the islands have sunk. That lone remaining isle do be guarded by the horned and scaled dragon people, who allow few trespassers.”

  He must not have heard yet—perhaps no one had—of the recent sinking of the Ninth Isle. I didn’t enlighten him now. Despite his generosity in buying me a meal, my instincts warned me not to trust him.

  As if sensing my hesitation, he offered a belated introduction. “Forgive me. I am Captain Ulysses of the Sea-Vulture, at your service.”

  The Sea-Vulture. The name of the ship caught my attention more than that of its captain, because it seemed to confirm my suspicions about this man. Who but a pirate would choose such a name for his ship? On the other hand, this Captain Ulysses’s manners and speech were not quite as rough as I would expect from most pirates.

  “I am Isaura,” I answered shortly, deliberately withholding my family name from him. For some reason, I wasn’t eager for the captain to know too much about me.

  The red-haired woman returned just then, bearing a platter of steaming food. Relieved at the excuse to end our talk, I turned my attention to the meal, stuffing my mouth with buttered bread.

  But the captain wouldn’t let the conversation die. Again, I felt his attention drawn to my magic hand.

  He said, “Am I right in thinkin’ I overheard earlier that you touched a magic stone and thus obtained this miraculous power in your hand?”

  His curiosity seemed a natural thing.

  Between bites of bread crust, I said, “Believe me, there’s nothing very miraculous about the magic in my hand. It’s more of a curse.”

  “Maybe it don’t seem like a great thing to you now because you haven’t yet discovered its possibilities,” he suggested. “There may be much you have to learn about the power of such magic stones.”

  I pushed aside the unsettling memory of the magic blocking the flight of spears the one-eyed giants had hurled at me. I refused to think of how it had made me witness through a dream the death of a young male dragonkind. Yes, the magic in my hand had a lot left to teach me. I suspected I would like none of it.

  The captain interrupted my gloomy thoughts. “You said before that your home be destroyed.”

  This was getting dangerously close to discussing the fate of Corthium, which I had no intention of doing. So I simply nodded and shoveled more food into my mouth. Along with the bread, I had been brought some kind of black beans in broth. They tasted surprisingly good.

  Ulysses continued, “Seein’ as you seem to be homeless and adrift in the wide world, it could be that you find yourself in want of work. With that in mind, I’d be willin’ to offer you a position on the Sea-Vulture as one of my crew.”

  I nearly spit out my mouthful of beans. “You’re offering me a place on your ship?”

  “Aye. The Sea-Vulture sails at dawn, and she be short a full crew.”

  Questions filled my mind. Why should he offer a place to a random stranger with no sailing experience? Certainly nothing about my appearance hinted I would make an able sailor.

  I realized he was staring at my glowing hand again, that he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off it since our strange encounter began. He tried to appear casual, but something told me it was my hand that had drawn him to me in the first place. What exactly did he know about the power of magic stones? And why was he eager to have that magic, through me, on his ship?

  Suspecting he wanted my power for some secret purpose of his own, I politely refused his offer, claiming that I was in Port Unity to visit family and intended to stay with them. The story wasn’t entirely false.

  While we spoke, I noticed a new group of strangers had entered the tavern. The small band hovered inside the doorway, looking sharply out of place among the other patrons. Their skin was an unusual tawny shade. Their clothing was of fine shiny fabric that glinted in the light like liquid gold. It consisted mostly of waistcloths and thin veils wrapped around their heads and drawn over the lower portion of their faces. The effect was both mysterious and vaguely threatening.

  With their arrival, I felt a new tension in the room. Every head in the place turned toward the newcomers, every eye followed them. One or two sailors even turned aside and spat.

  The newcomers didn’t advance far into the room but took a corner table, where they held themselves aloof and apart from the room’s grungier occupants.

  I interrupted Captain Ulysses, who was trying to persuade me to change my mind about joining his crew.

  “Who are those men?” I asked, nodding toward the new arrivals.

  The pirate glanced back at their table and his face twisted into a scowl. “Those be Gold Ship Voyagers. Not folk you’ll want to get involved with.”

  Although his contempt for them was obvious, he didn’t explain its reason. Instead, he returned to his subject.

  “You’ll not find fairer pay nor better terms sailing on any other ship but the Sea-Vulture,” he urged me.

  Under his persistence, I grew uncomfortable. Although he kept to a friendly tone, he was growing more insistent. I sensed that my refusals were stirring an unseen anger below his surface. Why, I wondered, was he so desperate to get me and my magic aboard his ship?

  “Again, thank you for the opportunity,” I said. “But I have business here in Port Unity to attend to.”

  While I spoke to the captain, I couldn’t help watching the voyagers across the room. Everyone in the place seemed to be keeping a wary eye on them. Now, I realized, my interest was returned. One of the voyagers was staring at me. Or rather, at my shimmering hand. I couldn’t see the lower half of the stranger’s face, concealed behind a gold veil. But his dark eyes were intense.

  If I had realized all the attention my glowing hand would bring me, I would have found some way of covering it before entering the port.

  Ulysses went on praising his ship and making me promises, as if he hadn’t heard my refusal to join him.

  But I was only half listening. The Gold Ship Voyager with the powerful gaze was leaving his companions and crossing the room to approach us. He came to stand a short distance away, not speaking, just looking at my hand. Self-consciously, I let go of the now-empty plate in front of me and tried to conceal my hand under the counter.

  Ulysses’s speech came to a sudden stop, as he realized we were no longer alone.

  He scowled at the newcomer and raised his voice. “You have no business here, voyager,” he snarled at the man. “The girl and I be talking. She has nothing to say to the likes of you.”

  The golden-veiled man didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t speak our language. But from the flashing of his eyes it was obvious he knew he was being insulted. Taking an aggressive stance, he drew from his belt a great curved blade. It was longer and wider than any sword I had ever seen but looked just as deadly.

  Surprise flickered across Ulysses’s face. Perhaps he hadn’t expected to be confronted. But in an instant, he shoved back from the counter, kicking over his stool in the process, and drew his own cutlass.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Seeing things were getting dangerous, I slipped down from my stool, grabbed my spear, and edged quietly away from the tense pair. Every eye in the room was on the confrontation between the pirate captain and the Gold Ship Voyager, making it easy for me to creep out the door unnoticed.

  Outside, I drew a deep breath of the night air, relieved at escaping the stifling interior and the confusing tensions between the different factions I had left behind. I didn’t understand these wingless off-islanders and their rivalries well enough to know what I had been nearly drawn into. I was just glad to get out of the middle of it. I had my own mission in this town and no time to be a pawn in whatever game was played between the local pirates and the mysterious Gold Ship Voyagers.

  It was now fully night. The only illumination outside came from the moon and stars and the occasional pole lanterns that cast yellow pools of light across the wooden walks. I hoped Skybreaker was keeping quiet and remained undetecte
d back on the warehouse roof where I had left him. Was he wondering what was taking me so long? I had promised to return by sunup but would that give me enough time? I had already been in town for more than an hour and was no closer to finding the person I sought.

  Or was I? I remembered the information I had got from the peg-legged redhead behind the bar. If I found this Basil scoundrel she had referred to, maybe he could point me toward my mother’s sister. I refused to consider the real possibility that he might be no relation to her at all. For all I knew, Seastrider might be a common name in these parts. But no, I had to explore this lead. It was all I had.

  I made my way down the shadowed walks, grateful to find them less noisy and crowded than before. The farther I got from The Blue Mermaid and the docked ships, the fewer pedestrians I passed. After obtaining directions to The Lucky Anchor from a passerby, I headed toward a less well-lit part of town, with fewer homes and businesses and more gloomy, empty storehouses.

  Out here, it was quiet enough that I could hear the gentle lapping of the ocean waves. I also heard the distant ringing of bells atop buoys floating on the dark sea, warning ships to steer carefully. I crossed a swinging bridge stretching low over the water and, on the other side, found myself in front of a strange building that stood up on tall poles above the walk. A set of stairs led up to the entrance, where an old rowboat hung on chains above the doors. Painted on the side of the boat was the name of the establishment, The Lucky Anchor.

  My climb up the steep stairs was hazardous, because the lanterns at the top of the landing were out. But I had no fear the place was locked up for the night. The low hum of conversation coming from inside made it clear The Lucky Anchor was far from abandoned. Indoors, I found a dark interior much like that of the last such place I had visited. Only the atmosphere here was quieter and more serious. Over the buzz of voices came the clinking sounds of rattling dice and the scraping noises of chairs being shoved back as unlucky players left the tables. These sailors and dock workers seemed less interested in food, rum, and song, and more focused on games of chance. Their grim expressions suggested many had more money at stake than they could afford to lose.