Of Dreams and Dragons

by Karpov Kinrade

  Kaden guides me past the mass of bodies to the counter, where a red-headed bartender dries a glass with a white napkin. He has a long, kind face. Freckles dot his cheeks, and a short red beard covers his jaw. His eyes are small, fast things, full of joy and laughter. When he sees Kaden, his lips part in excitement. “Kaden Varis! I haven’t seen ye in ages. How ya been, lad?” He wraps an arm around Kaden, then ruffles his hair. “What’s the occasion?”

  Kaden motions to me. “Bringing a new one to the Cliff. Sky Knightly, meet Skip, my dear old friend. Skip, meet Sky Knightly.”

  I hold up my hand, but instead of shaking it, Skip gently takes my fingers in his, then kisses the top of my knuckles. “A pleasure to meet ye, lass.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” I say, surprised by his manners.

  Skip grins, then gestures to a boy sitting on a stool, his feet up on another chair. “Ay, boy. Break’s over. Get back to the kitchens. Make room for Darkflame and his friend.”

  The boy looks up at Kaden, eyes wide. Then, without a word, he runs off, disappearing behind a door, the sound of clattering pots follows in his wake. Skip chuckles. “Boy doesn’t know whether to be like ye, or be terrified of ye.”

  “Both sound about right,” says Kaden, as we sit down on the stools by the bar.

  “What shall I get ye?” asks Skip, placing hands on hips.

  “Starpie,” says Kaden.

  “Drinks?”

  “The usual.”

  Skip grabs of bottle of something blue and mixes it with a bottle of something red. He pours the concoction in two glasses filled with ice, then adds a dash of white cream. He slides my drink toward me. “The Dragon’s Kiss. Be careful lass, it has a bite.”

  I stare at the fizzy purple drink, the liquid turning to smoke at the top. It smells divine. Carefully, I take a sip. The liquid burns my throat, but it tastes sweet and smooth and cool at the same time. A mashup of flavor that sets my senses alight and makes my skin tingle.

  “Yum,” I say.

  Skip nods as if to say, ‘I know.’

  I notice the painting behind him, the only one in the inn. “Who’s that?” I ask.

  Skip glances back, then chuckles. “That be our Emperor, Titus Al’Beckus, may he reign forever.”

  Titus Al’Beckus makes a stunning figure in the portrait. His face is hard, withered, a scar on one of his cheeks. Despite it, or perhaps because of it, he is devilishly handsome, the kind of man who looks better with age. Silver streaks line his black hair, which comes together in a ponytail at the back. His uniform is black, with gold buttons and gold clasps holding his cape in place. He holds the hilt of a sword at his side. This man is a warrior. A lion.

  Skip shrugs. “It keeps the loyalist happy, if ye know what I mean. Gets me better tips, too.”

  Kaden gulps down his drink and asks for a refill. “We’ll need two rooms,” he adds.

  “Only one left,” says Skip, making the second Dragon’s Kiss. “Sorry, friends.”

  “One will do,” I say, glancing at Kaden.

  He gives me a look as if to say, ‘are you sure’ and I nod.

  “One room then,” says Skip, grinning. He gives Kaden his second drink and leans in conspiratorially. “So tell me. What have ye been up to?”

  Kaden sips his drink. “I have business in town. A few leads to follow up on.”

  Skip raises a thick red eyebrow. “The Outcast?”

  Kaden nods, glancing at me. “Sky will stay here. I’ll return before dawn.”

  “We’re separating?” I ask, the thought of being on my own in this strange world unsettling.

  “Don’t worry,” says Kaden. “Skip will keep an eye on you.”

  The innkeeper winks. “Don’t fret lass. This here is the safest place in all of Al’Kalesh, I swear to ye.”

  “I’d rather go with the Ashlord, thank you very much,” I say.

  “Not these places,” Kaden says firmly. “If I run into the Outcast there will be trouble. Trouble you are unprepared for.” He drops three coins on the counter and stands, adjusting his scarf. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without another word, he walks off, disappearing behind the door.

  “Don’t take it personal, lass,” says Skip, shaking his head. “Kaden can be of one mind, sometimes. Like a force of nature. Sometimes, ye get caught up in the storm, but there be no one else I’d rather have on me side.”

  “You seem to know him well?” I ask, seeing an opportunity to learn things about Kaden he won’t tell me himself.

  “Aye. We go way back, Kaden and I. Back to when he was a wee little Ashling, still training at the Cliff.”

  “What’s with the scarf? He wears it everywhere?”

  Skip nods thoughtfully. “Aye. They say his mother gave him the cloth, before he came to the Cliff, though no one knows for sure. What be certain however, is that be no ordinary scarf. They say it blows against the wind, blows toward Corrupted Spirits. Warns of danger. Or leads him to it. I thought it mad, until I saw it me self.”

  I remember the Fenrial. I remember the crimson scarf blowing against the wind. “I saw it too,” I say, taking another sip of my drink.

  “Aye. Best be careful around him, lass. He be a good man, for certain, but he has a way of drawing things to him. Bad things. Dark things.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Skip leans closer, lowering his voice. “They call him Darkflame for a reason, lass. He be the greatest dragonslayer around. Killed a thousand of them they say. More. While others cower in terror of the beasts, Kaden faces them head on, carving a trail of death in his path. It wasn’t always so… not in the early days… but after the silver dragon, after that kill, something changed in the man. As if he walked with death from that day forward.”

  I look down at my drink, at the dark purple ooze swirling there. “He hardened,” I say. The alcohol is starting to affect me, loosening my tongue, relaxing my nerves. I take another sip. “It happened to me too. When I… When I met the one they call Pike.”

  The bartender freezes at that, little eyes going still, lips in a tight line. “What do ye know of him, lass?” he asks, words quiet and quick.

  “He took my daughter,” I say, gripping my cup harder.

  “I’m sorry. I…” His face turns sad for the first time. “I too lost someone to Pike.”

  Kaden didn’t mention that, but, seeing the grief on Skip’s face now, perhaps he had good reason. I feel sad. Then angry. “You traded away your—”

  “No. No,” he says frantically. “Never. It was my niece, Anny. Wee little lass with a mop of red hair like her mother’s. Kindest thing in all the worlds. It was me brother, gambling pig, who sold her away to clear his debts. I… I tried to stop him. To stop Pike. But I could do nothing. I am no great warrior.” He sits down, sighing. Then tears begin to fill his eyes, and he clutches his head, sobbing.

  It feels strange, finding someone who has undergone a pain I once thought mine alone. But of course Pike has taken other children, left other families grieving. How many are there, I wonder. How many like me and Skip who feel powerless to protect their loved ones?

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have presumed.” He didn’t do the same to me, and now I feel like a heartless fool. This new hardness within me, this new rage, is not one I’m accustomed to.

  I take Skip’s hand, pulling it away from his head and holding it close. “I will find Pike,” I say. “I will free my daughter and your niece. And then I will end him.”

  The tears stop. Skip pulls away, his face going pale. “Ye don’t know, do ye?”

  “Know what?”

  He takes a deep breath. “There be no one to save, lass. They’re dead, ye hear? Dead.”

  My drink sits half-full, forgotten. My lips tremble. My fingers shake. “That… that can’t be. No one knows what happens to the children—”

  “Aye, they don’t know truly. But this summer, I found a package in my room,” says Skip, pouring himself a drink. “A pile of little bones
lay within. And…” he takes another deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “And a red ribbon. The one Anny used to wear all places. I knew then. I knew… she was gone. Forever.”

  “But Kaden said—”

  “Kaden don’t know yet,” says Skip. “I have yet to tell him.” He pauses, his voice growing deeper. “Ye package will come too. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it will come. And then ye will know, once and for all.”

  Anger and shock and sorrow twist within me. This can’t be possible. It’s a lie. A mistake. “I need to go,” I say, asking him for the room.

  “But ye’re meal—”

  “I need to go.”

  He gives me directions, and I run upstairs. I find the room and fall into the bed, letting my tears out as I scream into the pillow.

  She’s not dead.

  She’s not dead.

  She’s not dead.

  My dreams are dark things. A creature with a thousand arms tugs at my hair, my clothes, my nails. It rips me apart, into a million tiny shards, then pieces me back together and does it over and over and over again. You failed her, it whispers. You let her go. Now she is mine. Mine. Forever.

  I wake gasping, my eyes stuck together, my throat thick. Last night, I didn’t even look around my room, but today I take it in: the furniture is simple, just a bed and a dresser. The sheets are white and coarse, wet from tears and sweat. The air smells of dust. The only light source is the window, and it hurts my tired eyes.

  The small room is empty except for me. Kaden hasn’t returned. I walk downstairs, finding the inn nearly empty: a man smoking a pipe in the corner, Skip wiping the counter clean. No sign of Kaden.

  “He’s not back, if that’s what ye are wondering,” says Skip, not looking at me, eyes fixed on his task. “Ye are welcome to take a seat. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

  I take the same stool as last night. “I’m sorry for the way I left.”

  “It should be I who am sorry, lass. Not ye. I was indelicate. Mention of Pike, it brings the worst out of me, ye know? I’m sorry.”

  A moment later he brings me a bowl of warm porridge and bread. I eat slowly, mechanically. An hour passes. Another.

  Kaden doesn’t return.

  “Do you know where he is?” I ask.

  Skip shrugs. “Sorry, lass. Haven't a clue.”

  Another hour.

  And then several more.

  The sun begins to set, casting hues of purple over the inn.

  People bustle in more frequently, preparing for a night of revelry.

  “I should go look for him,” I say, clutching the counter.

  “Where?” asks Skip. “It would take ye weeks to go over all of Al’Kalesh, and he may not even be in the city.” He notices my nervous eyes, then brightens his tone. “There be nothing to worry about, lass. He’s pulled this move before, not showing up like he should, but he always comes back. Few things can kill an Ashlord, and Kaden be the toughest Ashlord there be.”

  The door opens, and my heart skips a beat as I turn to see who it is.

  It is not Kaden.

  The Shadow hunches over as he enters the inn, his massive body too big for the building. His tongue licks at the air. He does not move his head to scan the room, and yet I am certain he sees everything inside.

  Another Shadow walks in behind him. This one is different from the first. He has horns, two massive ones sprouting from the front of his bald head. His tattoos are slightly different as well. The first Shadow has no horns, tattoos familiar, and I realize how Kaden recognized Sylus.

  The innkeeper’s lips stretch into a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lord Sylus. How can I help ye?”

  “We come to collect the sum you owe to our gracious Emperor, may he never burn.”

  “I’ve already paid my taxes,” Skip says, then quickly adds, “my lord.”

  Sylus steps forward, wooden floor creaking under his heals. “The records say you did not.”

  “There must be some mistake—”

  “The Emperor’s servants make no mistakes.”

  Skip swallows once. “Of course. Forgive me. I… I must be confused. I can gather the sum, but it will take some time.”

  “We require the sum now,” says Sylus, clenching his fist.

  The horned Shadow behind him grins, and I see what is happening. They’re trying to earn more coin, perhaps for the Emperor, perhaps for themselves, by double taxing, counting on no one standing up to them. Not counting on me.

  I stand up, Umi appearing on my shoulder. “Leave him alone. He’s already paid your sum and you know it.”

  Sylus tilts his head. “Sky Knightly of no importance. What a pleasure. I believe you are new to these lands, so I will warn you only once. Impeding me is punishable by death. Challenge me again and you will find yourself upon the pyre.” He smiles, showing his sharp teeth, and looks past me. “Now, shall we proceed.”

  A man and woman sneak out of the inn, behind the Shadows. Those who remain keep their heads down, trying not to draw attention. Skip trembles, teeth chattering. “Like I said, I don’t have the funds for ye just yet. But if ye come back in a fortnight.”

  Sylus tsks. “That will not do. Shall we begin the punishment?” He takes a quick step forward, his body flexed and threatening, and I, out of instinct, out of fear, react, my Spirit gathering power, and launching a small streak of lightning at the Shadow’s feet.

  The bolt misses, hitting the floor just in front of him, leaving a black mark on the wood.

  “No,” murmurs Skip.

  Sylus smiles. “To the pyres, then.”

  He steps forward again, and Umi roars, and my heart punches against my chest, and I have no control, lightning exploding from me, this time in all directions. The bolts miss the Shadows. One zips behind me. “No!” I yell but I can do nothing.

  The bolt hits Skip in the arm, and he falls back, yelling, his wrist burned. Another bolt hits the curtains and they set aflame.

  People scream. More flee the inn.

  The lightning stops. The terror at what I have done seems to have reigned in my Spirit.

  A terrible laugh echoes around me. “You are your own undoing,” says Sylus. Then he rushes for the exit, his partner in tow. He slams the door shut behind them, and I hear something large being moved. “Goodbye, Sky Knightly of no importance,” he yells from outside.

  As I realize what he has done, I run to the door, but I am too late. They have barricaded it somehow, trapping us inside. Me, Skip, four men, two women, and a child, a little boy.

  The fire spreads.

  The inn will burn.

  All of us with it.

  Because of me.

  No.

  I channel all my strength, all my Spirit, pushing against the door. It groans and cracks beneath my weight, but does not open. I look to the windows, but they are covered in flame. There will be water in the kitchen. Not enough to put out the fire, but perhaps enough to clear an exit. No. It would take too long to fill the buckets. The fire would spread too far then. Maybe we can soak blankets in water. Use them as cover as we jump out the windows. Maybe. But it’s dangerous. There must be another way. Another path. Upstairs!

  The windows.

  “Everyone,” I yell. “Run upstairs. Jump out a window.” The building is only two stories. They should land safely. A broken leg in the worst case.

  No one responds. They are frozen, coughing at the smoke.

  “Now,” I yell. “Upstairs if you want to live.” I grab the closest man to me, the largest, his beard and hair braided, and using my enhanced strength, pull him with me to the stairs. His eyes go wide, seemingly surprised I can move him.

  Skip glances at me. He nods, then turns to the other guests. “Upstairs. Now. Listen to the woman.”

  They break their stillness then, following me up the stairs.

  “Fire. Fire!” I yell, knocking on the walls, letting the guests in their rooms know they need to escape. “The path downstairs is bloc
ked. Open your window. Climb down.”

  I get to the first room, where a middle aged woman sits in a haze. I run past her and open the window. “Out. Now!” I roar.

  She doesn’t seem to hear me, and I notice a pipe laying by her side, the scent of something odd in the air. I turn to the big man by my side. “You go out first. Then catch her.”

  He nods, then crawls out the window. He hangs down first, then let’s go, landing safely.

  “Ready?” I call out.

  “Ready,” he says in a deep voice.

  I pick up the woman who still seems unaware of my presence, then toss her out the window. The man catches her.

  I move out of the way, letting those behind me go. The other man. The two women. “Where’s the boy?” I ask.

  The man shrugs.

  I grit my jaw and lunge past them, taking the stairs down in two leaps. The bottom floor is an inferno. Tables and chairs burned to a blackened crisp. The air dark with smoke.

  “Hello,” I yell, searching for the boy. No response. No sight of him. There. A cough. I hear him. He sits under a table, one of the few unburned, hiding, surrounded by fire.

  I need to get to him. How? I turn to the kitchen, hoping to cover myself in a wet blanket, but that path is blocked now, the hallway rug covered in flame. What about the bar? I find a pitcher of water, then pour it all over myself, no time left to grab a blanket. Then, my hair and shirt soaking, I run through the flames. I leap over a streak of fire, landing at the table. I lean down and grab the boy, who is crying and yelling and coughing. Holding him close, I run back for the stairs, trying to shield him as best as possible with my body. I cough as I move, the smoke filling my lungs, my head turning dizzy. I stumble at the stairs, but grab onto the railing. Just one at a time. Just one at a time. I make it up, the second floor now covered in smoke, the hallway dark and hazy. I rush to the window and stick my head out, gasping for clean air. “I have the boy. Somebody needs to catch him.”