Ghostflame (The Dragon's Scion Book 2)

by Alex Raizman

  The arcplate was stored in a grove nearby, buried under a hasty pile of leaves. It wasn’t the best solution but was infinitely better than trying to sneak it into the town. They’d had a cart last time to hide it in, and no one had been looking for it. After the battle in the forest, everyone would know what to look for.

  At least, now that they were past the wall, people didn’t give them much more than the normal glances reserved for strangers in a small town. They were new, they were noteworthy, but since they were inside the wall, clearly, they belonged. Otherwise, the guards would have stopped them.

  It was the kind of circular logic that Eupheme had needed to explain to her.

  “People are…stupid isn’t the right word. Lazy is a better one, but still not accurate. I think it really boils down to the fact that most people are honest. They stay within the rules, they obey the laws, and they keep out of trouble – so they tend to assume everyone else does too. Which means if you’re breaking those rules, if you’re violating those laws, or you mean to cause trouble, but you act like you aren’t going to…They’ll see what they want to see. Someone who belongs.”

  Tellias had agreed with her. “Back in the day, my grandfather was plagued by a thief that robbed him on no less than seven separate occasions. Stole over ten thousand keys worth of goods. When they finally caught him, my father asked him how he’d picked the expensive locks built into the doors. The thief had explained he’d gotten in by knocking and insisting he had important business. Each time wearing a small false-face – a mustache, a beard, clean shaven, longer hair – and an expensive suit. The servants had let him in because he’d clearly belonged.”

  Tythel thought that some of those details must have been inflated by years of retelling, but it was gratifying to see that they had been right about. Everyone who bothered noticing them – which was only a small fraction of the residents they saw – was looking at them like they were strange and different, but not out of place.

  They made it all the way to the Inn’s entrance without being challenged a single time.

  “Told you,” Eupheme said quietly as they slipped in the door.

  Tythel rolled her eyes. “I didn’t exactly doubt you. But it’s still hard to believe. How do people manage to be so unobservant?”

  “Mmm,” Eupheme said, holding the door for Tellias. “And how many people we passed had served in the Alohym’s army?”

  The inside of the common room was a wall of noise, the crowd far denser than Tythel had expected. In one corner, a group of men threw dice in a game of Snakes and Skulls. A cheer erupted from that table as one man cursed loudly. Copper Keys were pulled from their place in front of him and distributed amongst the group. In another, a large man – not overweight, just overall large – sat with his shirt unbuttoned and drunk heavily to the encouragement of a small group that had gathered around him. He finished the drink and slammed the mug down on the table with an impressive belch.

  “Your turn!” he growled to the woman in front of him. She wasn’t as large as the man she sat across, but she had a farmer’s build, stocky and strong. She gave him a wolfish grin and grabbed her mug, starting another round of encouragement.

  All around them it was like that. People living, talking, laughing, cursing – living. As if they didn’t have a care in the world. As if beings from beyond the stars hadn’t taken over the world. “I don’t know,” Tythel admitted to Eupheme’s question.

  “I counted six,” Eupheme said.

  Tellias snorted. “And how, pray tell, did you do that?”

  “Alohym soldiers drill on marches six hours a day for their first month of service,” Eupheme said, taking a seat. The general din of the tavern was enough to keep their conversation from prying ears – Tythel could barely make out unique voices unless they were shouting, and no one else here would hear as well as her. “It’s a very specific step, crisp and sharp. After they leave their service, they tend to retain a vestige of the march in their normal walking gait. I saw six people with that walk.”

  “So, what’s your point?” Tythel asked.

  “That most people are the same in that regard. It requires very specific training to start noticing people. It’s not a flaw – it’s just the way our minds work. You’d be surprised how much you miss too, is all.”

  Tythel nodded thoughtfully as one of the serving girls approached. “What can I get for you?” she asked in the friendly polite tones of someone who didn’t particularly care what you answered but had a duty to fulfill.

  Food and drinks were ordered. “We strike out for the mountain the morning,” Tythel said after the serving girl was out of earshot. “We should be able to make it by midday.”

  “I saw that mountain,” Tellias said doubtfully. “It looks like it’s a good distance away.”

  Tythel nodded. “It is. Which is why we’re going to get a Skitter before we leave. Quicker.”

  “I don’t know if we can afford a skitter,” Tellias said with a frown.

  “We can’t,” Eupheme agreed. “Even if we could find one willing to sell it on such short notice…”

  “I never said anything about paying for one,” Tythel said. The return of the serving girl with their drinks interrupted her response. It gave plenty of time for Eupheme and Tellias to give her confused looks.

  “Not that I’m opposed to the idea,” Eupheme said once they were again protected by solitude and the wall of noise around them, “but…I figured I’d have to convince you.”

  “I don’t like it,” Tythel admitted, her nictitating membranes narrowing with displeasure, “but I don’t see another choice. We have to make sure that our passage is noticed, and there’s no doubt to our destination. That’s the whole point of coming out here. Once we’ve lured them into my father’s illusions, the flyer will have to land to find us. But…even if we’re noticed like we hope, they won’t know for certain where we are going.”

  “But if we make a big noise in the theft and make sure we’re seen leaving…” Tellias said thoughtfully, “then it won’t take much of a leap to decide you’re going to your father’s lair.”

  Tythel nodded firmly. “And I think I know exactly how to make that big of a noise. I also think I know how to make sure we’re before then. I’ll tell you first thing when we wake. For now…drink lightly. We’re going to have an early morning, Light willing.”

  Tellias and Eupheme gave her fierce grins, and Tythel could only hope she wasn’t leading them to their dooms. No, she told herself firmly. You’ve cast that die. They let you cast that die. Trust them and trust the plan. Tonight…try to enjoy yourself.

  As the food arrived, mutton that was piping hot and smelled divine, Tythel thought that might be easier than she feared.

  They laughed and drank throughout the evening, now that the serious conversations had been taken care of. Although there was still an air of tension, the knowledge that at any moment Alohym soldiers or writ-hunters could show up, for the most part Tythel was able to find herself able to relax and breathe easy for the first time in what felt like months.

  “I have a joke,” Tellias said. His cheeks were flushed, and he was slurring his words, but the flush was due to a minor irritating Eupheme had given them to rub on their faces, and the slur was an act. No one would believe they would do what came next if they were sober and clear headed, so they had to act that part of drunks to sell the ruse.

  “Is it one Tythel will get?” Eupheme asked, giving Tellias a teasing grin.

  Tythel hung her head and sighed heavily. Tellias’ last three jokes had fallen flat. One had featured a philandering couple, one had featured a priest of the Light and a brothel, and the final had involved a serpent and a cave. “I understood the jokes,” she objected. “I just don’t understand why they’re funny. I mean, two people having an affair with the same person is an odd coincidence, so I guess I see the humor there. And priests do frown on brothels, so going to one is outside their expected behavior. I don’t know why it’s funny th
at he tried to preach about a whore’s hidden shadow.”

  “It’s a euphemism for her-” Eupheme started to say, but Tythel cut her off.

  “I understood that. But why would he preach to her about the sanctity of it. Do priests believe those are holy?”

  “Say holy again,” Eupheme said. “But say it slower. Sound out each syllable.”

  Tythel took a deep breath. “Fine. Hole…oh, I just understood.” Tythel sputtered as both Tellias and Eupheme laughed uproariously at her discomfort. “I’m beginning to suspect that you’re telling these jokes because it’s fun to laugh at my confusion” she said, pointing an accusing finger at Tellias.

  “Me? Take advantage of your naivete like that? That would hardly be gentlemanly of me.” Tellias said in overblown affront.

  “Yes, it would. Which I notice isn’t a denial.”

  Tellias gave her a wide grin. “Very observant of you, your high-Tythel.”

  That had been the signal. It was time for Tythel to make sure they were noticed. And if Tellias had slipped honestly, she was more than happy to assume it was the signal if it meant they would stop mocking her.

  Not that she minded, not really. They weren’t meant about it, and she never felt they were laughing at her. Still, it was good to have an excuse. “Well, gentleman you may not be, but I have doubts of your manhood.” She ignored Eupheme’s snicker and placed her elbow on the table. “Twenty keys say that I can force your arm down.”

  She made the announcement loudly enough to draw the attention of a few tables nearby, drawing curious looks from the other patrons. Tellias put down his coins and reach out to take her hand. “I’ll look forward to taking your money,” he said.

  Tythel gave him a sweet grin, and the contest was begun. Tellias strained to push her arm down with all the strength he could muster. Tythel sat there, letting him struggle. She took time to sigh deeply, covering her mouth with exaggerated mockery. “You can use both hands if you want,” she prompted.

  Tellias reached up and strained against Tythel’s hand. He leaned forward out of the seat, deliberately knocking his chair over in the process. The loud clatter drew more attention to the spectacle of a man with a soldier’s muscles leaning with all his might to bring down Tythel’s single outstretched arm.

  Tythel let it go on until beads of sweat began to form on Tellias’ brow. A crowd was beginning to gather, cheering Tellias raucously. “Bored now!” Tythel announced. With a slow, deliberate gesture, she began to lower Tellias’ hand towards the table. He cursed and tried to stop the motion, but Tythel’s strength was far too great for him to overcome.

  “I yield!” he shouted when his knuckles gently touched the hard wood of the table. A round of cheers rose up at the display. These people were mostly far too drunk to really think through how the whole process had played out – that what they’d witnessed should have been impossible. They just saw a show, and they appreciated that.

  “Who’s next?” Tythel said, raking over Tellias’ money. “Twenty keys say not a man in here is strong enough to bend my arm.”

  Chairs began to scrape as a half-dozen men stood up. The large fellow she’d seen earlier, drinking all comers under the table, shouldered his way through the crowd. “I could wrap my hand around your bicep, girl,” he growled.

  “Yes,” Tythel said, giving the man’s hands an appraising look. “They are rather large. But as mighty as your sinews might be, do you really think you can push down my hand?”

  The man reached into his pouch and threw out an assortment of keys. Tythel didn’t bother to count them – there were close enough to twenty. She forced herself to smile, hoping his intoxication would prevent the expression to be too off-putting, and motioned for him to take the seat across from her.

  He did so, putting his elbow on the table and raising his massive arm. “I don’t even know what sinews are, but I assure you I am more than strong enough to handle you.”

  Tythel reached out and clasped his hand. “Then prove it,” she said.

  Immediately, he surged forward, pushing against her hand so hard the veins began to appear in his neck in seconds. His forehead bulged, and he clenched his teeth, grunting at the exertion. He was strong, stronger than Tythel had expected.

  Her elbow almost wobbled.

  She set herself a bit better, strengthening her grip and pushing back just a hair more. “As I said before, you can use both hands-”

  The man roared in frustration and lunged forward. With the inaccurate determination only obtainable by the heavily intoxicated, he wrapped his free hand over the other and leaned with all his might against Tythel’s arm.

  She let her arm give, bending backwards. In truth, the full force of this behemoth of a man trying to bend her arm was probably more than she could have resisted even if she wanted to, but they’d known going into this they’d have to lose the keys. If Tythel had won the bout, they would have been accused of cheating or playing a confidence game. That would have drawn the attention of the local constabulary, which would have been more attention from the Alohym when they wanted.

  The man roared in triumph, pumping his fists into the air, and Tythel made a show of reluctantly pushing her keys across the table towards him. “Almost had you,” she said, making her voice as mournful as possible. “Anyone else want a go?”

  Encouraged, more men surged forward to take her challenge. She made a point of losing more than she won, enough to keep the game interesting for them while never seeming like a scam.

  By the end of the night, half of the men and a couple of the women in the tavern had sat across from her, staring her directly in the eye and the patch. Some would remember her the next day, and at least one was certain to connect her to the face on the writ posters. Word would reach the Alohym, but not in enough time for them to prevent the trio from leaving the town.

  There was a small chance one would send word tonight, but they’d all agreed that was an acceptable risk. Even if they could, it was unlikely that any of their pursuers would be able to arrive in enough time. It was a gamble, but an acceptable one in their estimation.

  The three retired when the night was still young. As Tythel curled into the bed, her stomach full, her friends safe, and her eyes sore from blinks of laughter, she felt content for the first time in far too long. Tomorrow, there was a vehicle to steal, a chase to escape, and a return to her father’s grave not to pay her respects, but to lure her adversaries.

  At she drifted into sleep, she was surprised at how little that weighed on her.

  ***

  The knock on Tythel’s door in the middle of the night startled her out of a deep sleep. Visions of Alohym soldiers bursting into the room, unlight weapons drawn, drove her out of bed with the rapid frenzy of pure panic. It wasn’t until she was on her feet, extending her talons, that her brain registered it had been a gentle rapping, not the hard knock soldiers would make trying to break into her quarters.

  “Tythel? Are you awake?” a voice whispered on the other side of the door.

  “Tellias?” Tythel asked, blinking to clear her eyes. “Well, I am now.” She walked over and unlocked the door to give him entry. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Tellias said, stepping into her room. He was fully dressed for departure, although the first light of dawn had not yet crested over the horizon. He certainly cut a dashing figure. His coat was as immaculate as possible from months on the road, black with gold inlay, and it looked like he’d taken some time to attend to his hair and trim the stubble he’d been developing of the last few days. “I just wanted…oh.” A bright red blush crept up Tellias’ cheeks, and he turned his back to her abruptly.