Dragon Unleashed

by Grace Draven

  Koopman grinned at his reaction. “This trap shadow has never much liked me.”

  “I can see that,” Gharek said in his driest tone.

  The merchant’s grin widened, revealing a row of yellow teeth filed to points. He waited until the threads loosened from the knife to reweave themselves back into their original position before lifting it and setting it aside. Gharek noted that the blade gleamed dully in the lamplight, not a single drop of blood on it. Koopman then plucked at one of the warp threads knotted tight to the loom’s frame. Like an out-of-tune harp string, the warp thread made a discordant sound. “Show us what the blood holds.”

  Threads wriggled on the loom, shrinking and contracting like a knot of convulsive worms. Gharek’s skin crawled at the sight. Colors set in random designs wove themselves with purpose, becoming discernible faces. The threads switched quickly, not allowing much time to view them, until Koopman snapped, “Slow down.”

  The fabric did as he commanded with ill grace, rattling the loom on which it was stretched before pausing on one visage, that of an older man with gray hair and eyes to match.

  “That’s the free trader who came to visit,” Koopman said.

  The threads shifted and wove again, this time to show the lined face of an old woman bearing a slight resemblance to the free trader. Gharek stared at her for a moment, arrested by her expression. “Who is that?

  Koopman shook his head. “Who knows? The trader came alone to the Maesor.”

  The trap shadow wove and rewove again, showing numerous faces. When it wove one of the last, Gharek gasped. “Stop.”

  The trap shadow didn’t stop, unraveling yet again to construct a new visage. This time it was Koopman who yelled, “Stop.” The threads froze. Koopman smiled. “I can see why you wanted it to stop. I’d climb on top of her in a heartbeat.”

  Gharek ignored the vulgar comment. The somber face of a pretty woman stared back at him with a guarded expression. She bore a strong resemblance to the free trader and a weaker one to the old woman. He had no solid evidence to prove the importance of the two women in his bid to obtain the mother-bond, but he never second-guessed his instincts, and right now they were screeching inside his skull that if he found either of them, he’d get his hands on the mother-bond.

  “How often can your trap shadow reweave the faces from the free trader’s blood?”

  Koopman instructed the fabric square to be still, and it settled once more into an innocent-looking weave of bright colors. “Three or four, though the faces lose their detail with each weaving until they fade altogether.”

  Gharek’s thoughts raced. “Hire a good artist who knows how to keep his mouth shut and have him sketch three faces from your trap shadow’s weave: the free trader, the old woman, and the pretty one who looks like them both. I want the portraits delivered to me as soon as they’re finished. I can put the Spider’s spies to work then.”

  The skin-crawling sensation that had plagued Gharek from the moment he’d stepped foot inside Koopman’s stall had only intensified as he watched the trap shadow do its work. He was eager to leave and planned to scour the first layer of skin off his body as soon as he returned home.

  Time in the Maesor market passed differently than it did in the normal world. The hour he’d spent with Koopman translated to half the night in the normal world, and he walked home through empty streets.

  He barred the gate and locked the heavy courtyard door behind him, releasing a tired breath as he stepped into the courtyard. The house was dark, but he found his way unerringly to his daughter’s room. Watery moonlight built shadows more than it cast light, but he spotted Estred asleep in her bed, sharing the space with Siora, who spooned against her.

  The scene reminded him of why he willingly embraced the role of cat’s-paw to the empress, despite the risks. Every trial, every danger, every sacrifice, was worth the chance to give Estred the life she was meant to have and not the one cruel gods had bequeathed to her from birth. From Dalvila’s malice to the enslaved evil of trap shadows, even to the capture, killing, and butchering of a near-mythical creature, Gharek had no intention of turning away from any of it. If necessary, he’d burn down the world for his daughter, even if all of history and its survivors cursed his name through eternity.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Halani woke to the sound of falling rain and the sight of Malachus’s handsome face looming over her, drawn with worry.

  He stroked her cheek. “Welcome back, earth’s daughter.” The strain in his voice contrasted with the relief in his dark eyes. “You gave us all quite a scare.”

  She blinked and pressed her palm to her forehead where a headache throbbed hard enough to make her ears ring. “The fen road.”

  “We’re on it, thanks to you.”

  She burrowed past the hazy layer of pain to memories of the earth’s ever-changing pitch as she dowsed a path over soggy ground, seeking out those places where the wagons wouldn’t sink. Triumphant cheering had erupted behind her when she and they sighted the narrow stretch of elevated road built long ago through Hedock’s Fen.

  “I remember,” she said. The road and more: Kursak spinning her around, his sun-cured face smiling and triumphant, several of the other men doing the same, until she was breathless. Then Malachus, more reserved but with a gaze brimming with admiration and something else that made her knees go weak.

  Well done, earth’s daughter. Exhausted by the dowsing, Halani still grinned at his praise. She had answered him, though she didn’t recall what she had said. A hot tickling in her nose preceded a river of wetness suddenly gushing over her top lip, and the world around her shrank to a pinpoint of light in the middle of a rushing darkness, until it too faded away. She’d known nothing else until now.

  Comforting warmth pressed against her back as Malachus’s arms cradled her in a careful embrace. She lay draped across his lap while he perched on the top tread of her wagon steps, protected from the wet by the weatherboard overhanging her door.

  “Was I bleeding?” She touched the shallow dip between her nose and lip. No wetness or crusted blood there now.

  Malachus nodded, the pinched look he wore emphasizing the sharpness of his nose. “Yes. I cleaned you up while you slept. How do you feel?”

  “Like someone’s joyfully beating a gong inside my skull.”

  Footsteps splashing through puddles alerted her to a visitor. Kursak climbed the first stair tread, wearing an expression similar to Malachus’s. “You’re awake.” He turned his head to bellow over his shoulder, “She’s awake!” before giving her a mock glare. “Gods, Halani, stop trying to scare a decade off my life. I need those years. Good thing Asil wasn’t here, or she’d have my balls on a spit for asking you to dowse that much ground at once.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll forgive me?”

  “Stop being wooden-headed,” she admonished him. “There’s nothing to forgive. I had a nosebleed and now a headache. Nothing a little butterbur can’t fix.” That, and she’d awakened in the arms of a man who set fire to her blood with a kiss. A sweet reward for a task completed.

  By the time she’d finished her sentence, most of the other free traders had gathered to thank Halani and praise her efforts. There were offers to bring food and drink and take over her chores while she rested and regained her strength.

  “How do you feel?” Kursak echoed Malachus’s earlier question.

  “I won’t be dancing around a campfire, but I’m fine otherwise. Malachus’s lap is comfortable, but I should get up.” She tried to sit, only to have Malachus press her gently back down.

  “No need to flail around. Take your time. You’ve funneled a lot of magic through your body. It doesn’t just disappear once you stop using it.”

  She didn’t protest, happy to spend a little more time in his arms. His last comment made her pause. “How do you know that?”

  “Know what?
”

  The hymn of earth was a constant around him, and she’d grown used to its soft lullaby in her mind every time he was near. She had no doubt he was an earth witch like her, though she’d never seen him wield sorcery of any kind. “That magic doesn’t just fade away once you stop using it.”

  He slanted her one of his enigmatic looks. “I’m well-read. Six languages, remember?”

  Kursak snorted. “You can teach her those later. Give her to the women and help check the wagons for any damage to the wheels or struts.” He wagged a finger at Halani. “Get dried off and in your wagon to rest. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

  “But . . .” She was exhausted, but she wanted to see the fen road and the fen itself.

  “No arguments. Who knows if we’ll need you to dowse again soon. You need sleep and food to regain your strength. We have to start rolling again.” The wagon master motioned for two of the free trader women to join him. “Can you see to her?” At their nods, he gave Malachus a sharp gesture and strode away.

  “Such an overbearing man,” Halani muttered.

  Malachus chuckled and eased her into a sitting position before guiding her to the women waiting to help her down the steps. “Another reason why he makes a competent wagon master.”

  Before he went to join Kursak and the others, Malachus caught her braid, pulling it gently over her shoulder to caress its length before letting go. “I’ll echo Kursak. I’ve lost a century off my life span today. Rest. You need it more than you realize.”

  “A century? Not a decade? You’re a long-lived man, Malachus,” she teased. His knowing half smile made her wonder. He bowed to her and the other women before leaving to help the men.

  After much cajoling and threatening from her helpers to cooperate and not sneak out of her wagon, Halani, dried and clad in a thin shift, crawled into her bed and huddled under the covers. She fell into a deep sleep, no longer bothered by her headache or the residual ring of earth music throbbing in her ears.

  She didn’t rouse until the following morning, pulled from a deep sleep by the lurch and sway of her wagon and the sounds of the caravan on the move. The pocket door built in the front of the wagon allowed access to the driver’s perch when slid aside. She discovered Nathin seated there, puffing away on his favorite pipe and coaxing the mule pulling the wagon to stop falling asleep in its traces. To her delight, the rain had finally stopped, and splinters of anemic sunlight sliced through the low-hanging clouds.

  Nathin glanced over his shoulder. “Want me to whistle back to Ruviti to bring you breakfast?”

  Appalled at the idea of having someone act as a servant or nursemaid to her when the most she suffered from was a lingering headache, Halani quickly refused and closed the pocket door. She dressed, pinned up her bedraggled braid, and silently blessed whoever had cleaned the mud off her shoes from the previous day’s trek. She propped the back door open using a hook latch and stood at the threshold, holding on to the door frame for balance.

  The free trader driving the wagon behind hers waved to her. Halani edged farther out on the threshold for a better look at the expanse of fen on either side of the road. Water and clumps of half-submerged sedge grass for as far as the eye could see. Herons stalked the watery landscape for frogs and fish, their long legs creeping through the water.

  “If you lean any farther, you’re going to fall off the ledge, Halani.” Malachus rode up alongside her wagon, mounted on the caravan’s slowest draft horse, ironically named Falcon.

  She stared at the big, sleepy-eyed horse, then at his rider. “Where’s Batraza?”

  “Enjoying the leisurely pace at the back of the line and the grooming I just gave her. We’re on a narrow road, and I didn’t want to unsettle the teams by riding her alongside them.” He guided Falcon a little closer to her wagon. “Care to join me?”

  An offer she’d be mad to refuse. “I’d love to. Pull him to the side, and I’ll jump down.”

  Malachus frowned. “I’ll ride to the front and tell Nathin to stop.”

  “No need. This wagon is moving slower than those herons out in the water, and I’ve done this plenty of times.” She proved her boast by leaping off the slow-rolling wagon to the ground. A few quick steps brought her to Malachus’s side.

  His frown had worsened to a scowl as he stared down at her from his high perch atop Falcon. “Risky,” he said.

  “Only if I lie down in the road and wait for Tursom’s team to walk over me.” She grasped the arm he offered, then paused. “Speaking of risky.”

  “I’ve been shoving wagons out of the mud for the past two days, Halani. If I haven’t torn or split anything yet, I doubt it will happen helping you onto this horse.”

  He was right. Using his forearm for leverage and the saddle cantle for balance, she hoisted herself onto Falcon to sit behind Malachus. At her “I’m set,” he coaxed the animal back into its plodding gait.

  “Who was the wit that named this unhurried creature Falcon?”

  Halani sneaked a caress of Malachus’s hair, admiring the way the weak sunlight gilded some of the strands. “Seydom’s son. Falcon’s dam is the long-legged mare pulling Kursak’s wagon. When she foaled, Brecka was certain her colt would be fast as a courser, though I’m not sure why he ever thought so. Anyway, hope sometimes wins over sense, and he named him Falcon.”

  After so much rain, the humid air felt thick enough to wear, and newly hatched midges gorged themselves on people and animals alike. Halani ignored both except for the occasional swat to her arms or Falcon’s tail slapping her leg as he too brushed away the pesky flies. These were minor annoyances, especially when compared to the pleasure of sharing this time with Malachus. His sojourn with the free traders was almost done. She’d not beg him to stay, though she dreaded the day he’d tell her farewell. For now, she’d simply bask in the feel of an emerging sun on her shoulders and enjoy the way his slim torso flexed under her hands with the horse’s gait.

  Malachus reined the languid Falcon around one of the wider wagons to capture a spot where the line widened to give them a better sense of privacy as they talked. “How far until we reach the end of the fen road?”

  A part of Halani wished the road might never end. “I’m not sure. At this speed, with stops overnight, we might be a sennight on it.” Knowing Kursak, he’d push their pace a lot faster tomorrow. They’d all had a day and night to rest, and the fen road, while high and mostly dry, cut through a dreary landscape unsuitable for travelers.

  She stared at the endless expanse of submerged fen before addressing a question that had nagged her since Malachus first rode up on Falcon. “How is it this horse tolerates you when the others don’t?”

  Her heartbeat thumped a little faster when Malachus laced his fingers through hers and tugged her hand forward until it rested against his ribs instead of his side. “This animal is so tranquil, you could put a starving wolf on his back, and he wouldn’t care. I noticed it when I tied Batraza near him one evening. He ignored her.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence after that, with the sounds of the caravan swirling around them as they rolled slowly down the narrow fen road. Halani prayed Kursak’s worries about traveling through bandit country didn’t come to fruition and that the rains and flooding had kept such hornets at home. She said as much to Malachus.

  “You’re in a worried mood today,” he said. “Calm your thoughts and enjoy these hours. The sun is out, the sheep are dry, and according to Nathin, you free traders are capable of defending yourselves. I can help as well should it come to that.”

  She didn’t doubt it. From the look of things when she and the others discovered him in the grass with the dead mercenaries, he’d dispatched them with ease and efficiency, even with three arrows lodged in him and poison running through his blood. She’d never seen him fight but suspected he made a formidable opponent.

  Despite his good advice
and her delight in his companionship, she still worried, and over something that had plagued her since they’d first brought him to their caravan. “Malachus?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If you tell anyone what you saw me do yesterday, it will be a death sentence.” Halani didn’t truly believe that once he left their caravan, he’d chat about their trip to the fen road to strangers in a pub, but he was an outlander in an unfamiliar country, and while he might take offense at her constant reminder of the Empire’s punitive measures against witches and sorcery, she felt it necessary to reiterate the dangers.

  His thumb slid along her knuckles in a back-and-forth caress. “Kursak said the same before you even started. Allay your fears. Should anyone ever learn of your abilities, it won’t be from me. Besides, I knew you wielded earth magic, despite your denials. It’s infused in your salves and your elixirs, and the earth sings differently under your tread. The only surprise was just how much sorcery you can wield. Earth doesn’t share her power easily, even with those born blessed with her favor.” A hot shiver bolted through her when he lifted her hand and followed the path of his thumb with his lips. “Why would I put you at risk? This is a hard world, made better for you being part of it.”

  She was already afraid she’d lost half her heart to this man, and his words threatened to take the other half as well. “I don’t understand how you don’t have a swarm of hummingbirds and butterflies constantly circling you. I swear, nectar drifts off your tongue.” She traced the faint ridges of ribs under his skin, making him twitch from the ticklish sensation. “How many women have you seduced with such sweet words?”

  He snorted. “None that I’m aware of. I was terrible at courtship. The brotherhood taught their fosterlings how to read, write, fight, and survive in the wilderness. The ways of courting, though, I learned them on my own through trial and error. A lot of error.”