Quarrah didn’t know what to do. Instinct told her to duck into the shelter, but her thief’s training told her that any sudden movement could draw the dragon’s eye. So Quarrah stood, clutching the medical bag and breathing slowly and steadily.
The dragon had arrived much sooner than Quarrah had anticipated. Sparks, Nemery had only Called twice! Ard would consider this good fortune, assuming the dragon didn’t spot Quarrah and eat her instead of the bait.
The dragon inched her giant body forward, bits of rock crumbling from the top of the waterfall. Her forelegs now extended down the cliff face, propping her at a rather precarious angle. The wings unfolded, stretching upward to counterbalance the way she was leaning.
Quarrah couldn’t blink. Those wings were like ship sails. A network of veins were scrawled across their leathery surface, and the shining sun made the wings appear almost translucent. In a way, they seemed too delicate to belong to such a heavy creature.
The dragon’s body now blocked the natural flow of the waterfall. After a second, water began spilling around her, cascading down foliated rocks, forging a new path to the pool below.
The sow’s face hovered just above the dead hog. She sniffed the air once more. And then that powerful jaw split wide. Her head came down, mouth snagging the hog carcass. It dangled from her razor teeth, causing the dragon to snap her head back, flinging the hog into the air. She caught the falling carcass in her open maw, those incomparable jaws slamming together, throat contracting as she swallowed the bait.
The dragon’s wings came down in a rush of wind that caused the surface of the pool to ripple. The action boosted the dragon’s body back to stability on the short clifftop. The sow opened her mouth once again, a bit of shimmering heat wave filtering upward as she bellowed a boasting cry of her own.
If Nemery’s artificial Call had given Quarrah chills, then this nearly dropped her in a dead faint. The sound washed over Quarrah, almost like a tangible substance. She felt a gentle warmth radiate from the creature’s breath. The monster’s cry hit every point of the spectrum—high and low, shrill and soothing. All the components of Nemery’s instrument were present, but there was no substitute for the real thing. In comparison, the imitation now seemed hollow and weak.
The cry subsided and the dragon turned with a mighty crashing of underbrush. With such an unbridled departure, Quarrah was surprised she hadn’t heard it coming. Could an animal that size move quietly through the brush? The idea terrified her.
Quarrah saw the tip of the dragon’s tail as it flicked around, and then the sow vanished into the forest above the cliff. Quarrah remained rigid, the white medical pack clutched against her pounding heart.
Suddenly, Ard was facing her outside the hut. A large pack rested across his shoulders, and there was a brightly colored spear in one hand. “She took the bait.” Ard’s voice was soft, their faces close together in the late-afternoon light. “All of it.”
“That was a dragon,” Quarrah muttered. The simple remark brought a smile to his face, and for a moment, Ard seemed to let go of whatever new trouble had been bothering him.
“I have to follow her. I’ll see you at the Slagstone,” Ard whispered. “Don’t trust anyone, Quarrah.” He suddenly leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. She remained standing in that same place long after Ard had departed. In that place where she had seen a dragon.
Of all the music my ears have taken in, nothing can rival the harmonic dissonance of a dragon’s cry.
CHAPTER
28
Ard moved swiftly up a treeless incline, his legs burning from exertion as the midday sun beat down upon him. What was he thinking, making himself Forward Tracer? Ard wasn’t cut out for this kind of physical activity. He was an idea man. He should have been sitting in the upper room of the Bakery on Humont Street, devouring scones.
Still, changing the crew assignments had been the only move. Tracers set a path for the rest of the crew, following the baited dragon, sometimes waiting days before the other Harvesters reached the fired Slagstone. That gave the Tracers too much power—perhaps even more power than the captain.
Ard needed to know exactly where the crew was going. If Moroy Peng was working with Raek—and it was a real possibility, since Raek had hired him—it would be too easy to lead the crew into a trap.
Ard’s only regret about the reassignment was leaving Quarrah behind. At least she knew of his suspicions toward Raek. Quarrah could keep an eye on him, while Ard marked the trail.
He paused halfway up the hill, leaning on his marking spear and gasping for breath. It was risky to stop in the open, but Ard thought it highly unlikely that the dragon would double back along this path. He had seen her vanish into the trees at the top of the slope. Once he reached that point, he’d have to locate her again, maintaining a safe distance while keeping her within eyesight for as long as possible.
Ard couldn’t decide if the solitude was good for his mind. He spent the time pounding out the facts again and again. And each time, the facts pointed to Raek as the king’s informant.
Ard shouldn’t have let himself be so blind to it. For weeks, he had refused to consider the thought that Raek could lie to him like this. But lying was what ruse artists did best. Was it really a stretch to think that his best friend could have deceived him? Hadn’t Ard once done something similar to the woman he loved?
Tanalin Phor. She was here.
It could have been a trick, of course, like so many other things his partner might be lying about. But there was something too genuine about the way Raek had said her name. It was logical, too. Ard had heard that Tanalin was working with the king’s Harvesting crew.
But more than anything, Ard seemed to sense that Tanalin was near. It wasn’t something he could have deduced on his own, but once Raek had made the comment, her presence began to resonate in him.
Ard couldn’t let Tanalin see him. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Finding Tanalin again had always been his long-term plan. This ruse, with Isle Halavend’s million-Ashing payout, would be enough for Ard to leave this life, but he knew everything would be ruined if he had to face Tanalin prematurely.
It was terrifying. More frightening than the dragon he was chasing. The woman he had never stopped loving was on this island. She was coming for him, though she had no idea who he really was.
Ard reached the top of the bare slope and stopped at the tree line. Time for another mark. He twisted the spearhead free from the shaft and dropped it to the grass. Reaching into a leather pouch hanging at his side, Ard withdrew an orange cartridge wrapped in thin paper with twisted ends.
Tracer’s Dye. It was the proven method of leaving a path for the rest of the crew to follow. Usually the Forward Tracer paused only to make a few necessary marks, while the Secondary Tracer followed, reinforcing the trail with more dye. But Sojin Wint was dead, leaving it all up to Ard.
He untwisted one end of the paper cartridge and emptied the powdered dye into the hollow shaft of his marking spear. Ard rapped the butt of the spear against the ground a few times before uncorking his water skin.
He took a long swig of water, warmed by the beating sun. But the second mouthful, Ard spit into the hollow shaft of his spear.
Ard spit two more mouthfuls and waited a moment for the dye to mix. Freshwater wasn’t a scarcity on Pekal, so the waste didn’t bother Ard. The habitat was lush, with all those streams and springs.
The water reacted with the dye to create a frothy foam. Ard heard it fizzing as it increased in volume, nearly filling the hollow spear.
At the butt of the spear was a metal cap with a groove in one side. Ard untwisted the other end of the paper cartridge and emptied a tiny pinch of Blast Grit into the groove.
Rising to his feet, Ard took aim, pointing the open end of the hollow spear toward a large tree. He gave the metal cap a sharp twist, which simultaneously deposited the Blast Grit into the shaft and sparked a Slagstone ignitor to create a small explosion.
&nb
sp; The detonation blasted the foamy dye across the limbs and trunk of the tree, making a bright orange mark in a spot easily visible from the bottom of the slope. The spear was still smoking when Ard twisted the pointy head back into place and trudged into the trees.
The marking spear was a versatile tool. In a bind, it served as a weapon. The long pole was a helpful trekking stick when ascending steep slopes. And the hollow shaft doubled as a blow sprayer to mark the trail with the foaming dye.
The dye was designed to linger on rocks and vegetation for up to three weeks. Harbor Regulation assigned the color, assuring that no two Harvesting crews would use the same color within the same cycle. Doing so lessened the likelihood that paths would cross and people would get lost in the mountains.
Ard didn’t know if orange was an approved color for this cycle. It was simply the only dye Raek was able to secure for the trip. It showed up well enough, even if Ard found spraying a mark every few hundred yards rather tedious.
It was risky for Ard to play at being a Tracer, since he didn’t really know what he was doing. A typical crew covered significant distances across difficult terrain. If the marks he was leaving weren’t easily seen, the following crew would have to fan out and search for the trail. From what he’d heard, that was a major reason people got lost and abandoned on Pekal. If a bad storm rolled in while the crew was spread out like that, it would be easy for anyone to get disoriented, even if they had experience on the mountain.
Ard determined which direction the dragon had gone, noting matted grasses and flattened underbrush. The huge creatures did surprisingly well at snaking their way through trees without demolishing the forests. Dragons were more flexible than most people assumed, and they had no desire to ruin their singular habitat.
The creatures didn’t move extraordinarily fast unless they wanted to. Ard’s sow had meandered across the mountainside at a steady pace. But she navigated ravines and cliffs with much greater ease than a human Tracer.
Gratefully, the dragon had bedded down last night, giving Ard a chance to string his hammock downwind and get some much-needed rest. The morning had been grueling, and Ard’s legs were already sore from yesterday’s hike. But as lunchtime drew near, the sow’s pace seemed to slow.
Ard paused, his ears honing on a sound from the trees behind him. He would have dismissed it as wildlife if the same snapping twigs had not followed him all morning. Had Raek sent someone from the crew to keep an eye on him?
If it was a sneaky follower, it was time to flush them out. Ard clutched his spear loosely and took off at a sprint toward a cluster of crumbled Slagstone rocks.
Old chunks of Slagstone dotted this entire island, broken to bits by the natural Dross layer. The explosive properties of the once-organic material greatly diminished with time, so Harvesters rarely bothered with it, spending their time instead on chasing a baited dragon to claim fresh Slagstone.
Ard paused behind the heaped rocks, tense legs burning. He dropped his pack, drew a dagger from his belt, and rested against one of the cool shaded stones. For a long spell, he heard nothing but the distant rumblings of the foraging dragon. Then there was a crunch of old leaves just down the hill from Ard’s hiding place. His follower was drawing nearer, attempting to walk with careful, quiet steps.
Ard would spring on them once they came into view. If it was one of his crew members, he’d question them. If it was someone from Tanalin’s crew, he’d tie them up and leave them. Ard’s heart suddenly skittered. And if it was Tanalin herself?
A twig snapped, and Ard saw a figure step cautiously into view. He sprang from his hiding place, tackling the figure before realizing that he recognized her.
“Nemery?” Ard lowered the dagger and rose quickly to his feet. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
The girl was trembling, attempting to recover her breath while lying in the underbrush, making no effort to stand. Ard reached down to help her up. Nemery’s pack looked as big as she did.
“What are you doing?” Ard asked again, dusting off his pants.
“Following you,” Nemery said.
“Yes, I can see that,” replied Ard. “Technically, everyone is supposed to be following me. That’s a Tracer’s job. Where are the others?”
“I went ahead of them.”
“Well, you can’t stay with me.” He gestured back in the direction he had come. “Get back to the group. I’ve got a dragon with a belly full of valuables that better not get too far ahead of me.”
“I can help,” Nemery begged. “I know a lot about dragons. Did you know that their ability to breathe fire is reserved almost singularly for hardening Slagstone? Granted, the bulls had an additional purpose for breathing fire to fertilize gelatinous eggs. A lot of folk think that the dragons use their fire as their primary form of attack and defense, but that’s a myth that started when Grotenisk razed Old Beripent. Practically speaking, recklessly breathing fire in a forest would be foolish. This island is home for the dragons. They can’t afford to burn it all to ash.”
Ard stared at the girl in amazement. She was like a talking book! The information was all accurate, but that wasn’t the way to make conversation. “So, what is a dragon’s primary defense?” Ard decided to goad her a bit.
“Aside from the obvious teeth and talons, a mature dragon can swing her tail at a bone-crushing velocity,” said Nemery. “They can also breathe heat vapor. It’s essentially a cloud of intense heat that is every bit as dangerous as regular fire but doesn’t catch the surrounding vegetation.”
Ard sniffed the air. There was a distinctive smell to the girl. “Are you wearing Pichar extract?”
“Of course.” Nemery fumbled with her pockets, producing a small vial with a cork stopper. “At this proximity to the sow, we are easily within range of her powerful olfactory. A dragon can smell its surroundings up to a hundred yards, depending on the wind …”
“Nemery.” Ard gripped the girl’s thin shoulder to stop her rambling.
“What?”
“This is your first time on Pekal, isn’t it?” Nemery dropped her chin, her unblinking wide eyes studying Ard’s boots. “It’s okay,” Ard continued. “You can tell me. What am I going to do, send you home? You’re here now, and you did an impressive job Calling that sow yesterday.”
Nemery let a moment of silence hang before answering. Her voice was far less chipper than it had been while explaining dragon defenses. “I lied. I’ve been apprenticing with a Caller outside Panes. When the Short Fuse was assembling the crew, my master vouched for me. A few others did as well. I knew you were only taking people with experience, but how was I supposed to gain experience if nobody would hire a person with no experience?”
“How old are you?” Ard asked.
“Fourteen.”
“Sparks, Nemery!” She was even younger than Ard had suspected. “When I was fourteen, I was far more focused on meeting girls than dragons.” He swung his pack onto his shoulders. “Somebody send you out here to find me?”
“No.” Nemery slipped the vial of Pichar oil back into her pocket.
“So, you just … missed me? Wanted to catch up?”
“I don’t like them,” Nemery said.
“You don’t like who?” replied Ard.
“Those brothers, Ulusal, Moroy, the Feeder,” she listed. “Raek.”
Ard studied her, trying to decide if her anxiety was genuine. “To be honest, I’m not sure how much I like the crew lately, either.” Ard meant the comment for Raek, but he didn’t want to say it outright in case Nemery was working with him.
“But what about Quarrah?” Ard asked.
“No, I don’t like her, either.”
“Really?” Ard scratched his head. What was there not to like about Quarrah Khai? As thieves and criminals went, she was among the most upstanding.
“They’re criminals,” Nemery went on.
This got a good chuckle from Ard. “So are you, Nemery. And I’m their leader! What does that make me?”
> “Different,” said Nemery. “You’re different from the others.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your name,” Nemery said. “It’s religious. You’re a Wayfarist, right?”
This startled Ard enough that he couldn’t find a proper answer. He had been Wayfarist once. But that was in his youth. It seemed like ages ago.
“I am, too,” Nemery went on. “The others might have been at some time in their lives. But they’re obviously pretty Settled now. They don’t care about the Homeland, I can tell. Not like you.”
The conversation made Ard suddenly uncomfortable, as though a prickly leaf had dropped into his shirt. He should have stopped the girl right then. Set her straight about his religious beliefs. But there was something innocent in those eyes, and Ard didn’t have the heart to quash it.
“That’s the thing,” Nemery went on. “I knew you’d watch out for me. It’s what the Homeland commands all good Wayfarists to do for one another. I mean, I know what we’re doing is illegal. That goes against the teachings of the Islehood, so technically our actions right now are very Settled. But I need the money and the experience. And we’re making Visitant Grit. That’s a holy purpose. The Homeland has to understand why we’re here, right?”
Oh, Nemery had no idea. A Holy Isle had hired him! And, half a million Ashings aside, deep down, Ard felt more and more like he was doing the right thing. He’d looked into King Pethredote’s eyes and felt a zeal drive him onward. An Urging, perhaps? If the Homeland really did exist, Ard thought it must be rooting for him.
“You can stay with me.” Ard saw the effect of his words on the young girl’s face. “But there’s no complaining allowed.” He started down the hillside.
“Oh, I won’t complain,” Nemery said, jogging to keep up. “Did you know that a mature dragon can consume up to two thousand panweights during the course of a regular digestive cycle? Of course, the extruded Slagstone doesn’t weigh half that much …”
The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn Page 46
