Dragonfang

by Paul Collins

  Over a hundred vessels, including clippers with furled red triangular sails, a forty-oared slave galley, caravels and merchant ships either lay at anchor in the harbour or were moored at the quayside. Zaria was as crowded as D’loom had been less than fifty years ago, or so said the old seadogs.

  Jelindel and Hargav made their way through the busy streets as the sun was touching the western horizon. Its golden light fell on the rapidly cooling tiled roofs of brick and clay houses, each reflecting a different hue of red.

  ‘So, we have a night in this foreign port,’ said Hargav. ‘Now I see why sailors get so excited about the end of a long voyage.’

  ‘A week is hardly a long voyage,’ Jelindel pointed out.

  Hargav ignored her as he looked at the unfamiliar buildings and people. Whereas D’loom had grown upward to accommodate a rising population, Zaria’s buildings had spread out, leaving spacious, brightly lit streets. D’loom seemed dark and menacing by comparison. And the people here were more jovial and healthy, compared with D’loom’s depressed citizens.

  ‘What I mean is that my mother and sisters would just swoon if they thought I was a jolly tar in a foreign port, setting off to drink my first pint of ale.’

  ‘What do they think you are doing?’ asked Jelindel, who could not believe her ears.

  ‘Well, there are eleven very fine temples in Zaria – I have read about them. I promised to make a special pilgrimage, whereby I would recite the eleven chapters of Sorboravo’s lamentations in a single day, between sunrise and sunset.’

  ‘Lucky the ship is not here for one complete day,’ muttered Jelindel. ‘Our very suspicious merchant client is having the Dragonfang loaded at night. It’s costing two or three times the usual loading rate, but he wants to be moving again before the privateer squadron decides to bring the Dark Empress here and sell its cargo.’

  Ahead of them, two men burst through a door and crashed to the road, rolling in the dust and trading punches. People inside the tavern cheered, then returned to the serious business of drinking, gambling and trying to impress the single hostess. The besieged woman was trying hard to ignore them.

  ‘Are we going in there?’ asked Hargav.

  ‘Er, no,’ said Jelindel. ‘Not a good idea.’

  ‘But I am a veteran of three fights aboard the ship!’ he protested.

  ‘Hitting a deckhand with a bucket, biting the carpenter while he and a dozen others were throwing you into the bilgewater, and getting tied up by privateers does not quite amount to three fights.’

  ‘I still have a black eye. That will surely impress people,’ Hargav said, buoyantly.

  ‘Hargav, you weigh about ninety pounds – dripping wet. I doubt that a single man in that place weighs less than double your weight. And I am certain that not a single one of them will be impressed by your black eye.’

  ‘It proves that I can fight.’

  ‘It proves that you aren’t good at it. A scar on a man tells me one thing – he is either careless or slow. It’s the man without scars that you need to be wary of.’

  ‘How long does it take for a black eye to disappear?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Jelindel said. ‘I’ve never had one.’

  Hargav gingerly touched his swollen eye, and looked longingly at the entrance of the tavern. ‘Then where are we going?’

  ‘To visit some friends. And never mind the fights – you’ll be in plenty of those if you live long enough.’

  Much to Jelindel’s amusement, Hargav realised he was fingering his black eye. He pulled his hand away quickly. ‘These people we’re visiting. Are they expecting us?’

  Jelindel snorted. ‘They’ll know we’re here, yes. Their usual visitors comprise adventurers wanting to know what fate awaits them, merchants wondering what to import next to make their fortune, and farmers and fishermen asking for predictions about what to plant and where to fish for the best catch.’

  ‘Soothsayers?’ Hargav had some difficulty with the word. ‘They’re …’

  ‘Scary?’

  ‘No!’ Hargav rolled his eyes. ‘Different, perhaps. But not scary.’

  Jelindel wrapped her arm his shoulders. ‘Good for you.’

  Hargav fell silent. He had much to think on.

  The cottage where Jelindel’s friends lived was in a reasonably respectable area of the port. It was surrounded by a neat rock and mortar wall, and the well-tended garden was overflowing with mostly exotic herbs. Scattered among the herbs were at least half a dozen plaster gnomes, peering through the luscious greenery. Hargav noted another one was relieving himself into the ornamental pool, while another was baring his buttocks.

  The house reminded Hargav of a long forgotten cairn. Made from stone with a turf and thatch roof, its facade was festooned with thick unruly vines, as though the earth was chaining the structure to the ground. From an open window wafted a pungent smell that made Hargav tingle with a sense of unease. Esoteric people always had that effect on him. They could read minds, lay the heart exposed like a babe in a cradle, and look into your very soul. And Hargav had a lot to hide.

  Madame Dione met them at the door. Anyone who believed in the saying ‘never trust a skinny cook’ would have trusted her at first sight. She swept Jelindel up in her arms with a delighted shriek and whirled her inside the dark dwelling. Three young women skipped out and surrounded Hargav.

  ‘I’m Annatel,’ said the youngest. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘He’s Jel’s friend,’ said one of them.

  ‘But his name!’ Annatel pleaded.

  Hargav felt cornered. ‘Er – ah, Hargav.’

  ‘Erah Hargav? Well I am Bethany.’

  ‘No, no.’ Hargav shook his head. ‘Hargav, just Hargav.’

  ‘Well, if you are going to call yourself just Hargav, then you must call me just Be.’

  ‘Would you like to come inside?’ asked Annatel.

  Since he had no option, Hargav allowed the girls to lead him into the low-beamed room. The place was much as Hargav expected from a soothsayer’s. The walls were covered with weird artifacts, from the skeleton of some small creature, to shelf upon shelf of herb jars and stoppered vials filled with dark liquids. Hanging everywhere were utensils of every shape and size. A cauldron bubbling in the open hearth was letting off the unnerving smell he had encountered earlier. One of the girls squealed and swirled a giant wooden spoon through the mixture. Hargav moved closer to Jelindel.

  Although they were not officially expected, the two guests found themselves sitting down to dinner within an hour. It was obvious to Hargav that his shipmate was on intimate terms with their hosts, as they spent most of the time exchanging news and swapping stories about people they knew. The story of the privateers’ attack took Hargav no more than five minutes to tell, but his otherwise attentive audience showed amazingly little interest in the heroics.

  Slowly the situation began to dawn on Hargav. These people did not pay much attention to matters of heroism. They were well educated, extremely confident, and strangely powerful.

  Annatel began to take a particular interest in Hargav, and kept moving closer at every opportunity. She took his hand in hers, and Hargav found himself sitting on the edge of the bench, unable to retreat further without standing up or falling off.

  ‘Your skin is so soft,’ Annatel said, stroking his hand. ‘Not at all like that of a sailor. And you have such big, brown eyes, and long, fine eyelashes.’

  At the other end of the bench, Jelindel was chatting with Madame Dione. She appeared not to take any interest in Hargav’s predicament. Their conversation seemed to be coming from progressively further away, until Hargav could hear nothing.

  ‘Hargav will not be able to hear us at all by now,’ said Madame Dione, changing the subject without altering the tone or level of her voice.

  ‘Just as well,’ said Jelindel. ‘Being in the cottage of a witch and her witchling acolytes would probably disturb his peace of mind. He became very nervous when I said where we were heading.’ />
  ‘From the way he is backing away from Annatel, I would say he has very little peace of mind left to disturb, Jelli girl.’

  ‘Will you keep your voice down,’ hissed Jelindel.

  ‘Have you no faith in my muffling spell?’ Madame Dione mocked lightly.

  ‘Break the rules when it is safe to do so, and eventually you grow careless and break them when it is dangerous. I’m Jel the boy, not Jelli the girl.’ Jelindel leaned across the table and fought hard to look serious.

  ‘But you are very promising, Jelindel.’

  ‘Jel!’

  Madame Dione raised her eyebrows. ‘I would venture to say that you’re well on the way to becoming an Adept 10, Jel. Given a year of apprenticeship and instruction, why you could well out-shine the other three with ease.’

  ‘The path that I follow is quite interesting enough, thank you. I have no desire to settle down and learn what other people think I should learn.’ Jelindel stopped, seeing disappointment on her teacher’s face. ‘Sorry. Don’t think I don’t appreciate all you’ve taught me these six months. I do. It’s just that it’s not safe for me to stay in one place for any length of time, which is why I’ve only seen you while the Dark Empress docked here. And it’s not safe for those around me, either.’

  Madame Dione hummed a little, thinking. ‘Mere mortals are no match for you, Jelindel. You should never drop your guard, of course –’

  ‘The mailshirt still haunts me. I saw a dwarf with green blood. He was working for the Preceptor.’ Jelindel frowned, recollecting Kantor and his twinkling neck brace.

  ‘Where is he now?’ Madame Dione asked. Her voice dropped several octaves.

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘You killed an off worlder? Slayer of sky people!’ Madame Dione had known Jelindel for a mere six months, but felt as close to her as she did to her senior apprentices.

  ‘It troubles me that they’re still here, perhaps searching for the mailshirt.’

  Madame Dione pursed her lips. ‘They have been no match for you to date, Jel.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Jelindel conceded. ‘I must stop worrying about them and focus on matters at hand.’

  ‘And how are you feeling about Daretor and Zimak? Are you over them as yet?’

  ‘I shall never be “over them”, as you put it. In fact, their plight is why I initially came here.’ Jelindel forced her fingers to stop tapping the table. ‘They occupy my mind at every turn. I half expect to see them jump out of thin air in front of me, magicked back by some potent paraworld Adept.’

  Madame Dione smiled in her motherly way. ‘Your continued grief over their loss suggests that you may have fancied one of those two fine warriors.’

  Jelindel thought she might have been blushing, but it did not concern her. ‘Grief, no.’ Her tone was cold. ‘Not even much guilt. I have been thinking about it, and I think that it is myself who is my problem.’

  ‘You are in love with yourself?’ laughed Madame Dione.

  ‘No, but I did betray them. Oh, for all the right reasons, but betray them I did. I banished them to another existence. I feel that I shall not be able to redeem myself until I get them back.’

  In the silence that separated them from the others, Madame Dione sat back with mild shock. ‘So, you still want them back?’

  Jelindel sighed. It was a heavy sigh tinged with guilt. But she was relieved now that she could finally shoulder some of it. ‘Yes. Have you been able to learn anything about transference between worlds?’

  ‘Well, funny that you should ask. Someone else is making enquiries and conducting tests. My informant thought that because I was asking, I was working for this particular person. Anyway, he told me that the tests being conducted involve a magical stone device, which is powered by pentacle gems.’

  ‘Pentacle gems?’ Jelindel said, abruptly.

  Madame Dione frowned. ‘Yes. You seem to have heard of them.’

  ‘Certain … people that I encountered recently made mention of them. I have read that the gems can indeed transfer people between worlds.’

  ‘Not exactly, but they are vital to the process.’

  ‘I may be able to get one,’ Jelindel said, hopefully. ‘Should I manage that, how would I use it?’

  ‘My informant was rather vague. I gather, however, that you can use it by giving it to one of those who seek to bring about a confluence of the gems. That, in turn, should lead you to the other gems. There will be a device with four more pentacle gems. That device will open doors between worlds, but you will still have the problem of knowing just which world you banished your friends to. Even if you did find the world, you need to locate your friends, and worlds are very big places. Are you even sure if they are still alive?’

  Jelindel’s face clouded. ‘Not really, but I think that I could speak the name of the right world.’

  ‘Its name,’ Madame Dione mused. ‘Well, yes, that should be enough to focus a magical engine on the right place. Then it might be a matter of entering that world yourself and bringing back your quarry.’

  ‘But without another machine in the other world –’

  ‘Not needed. You can take three tethers that will drag all three of you back to Q’zar. Just wait while I find a quill and inkstone. I shall write out some incantations, and a few things that you will need to collect.’

  Jelindel clasped Madame Dione by the wrist. ‘I know what this information must have cost you. I’ll be forever indebted.’

  Madame Dione reached across the table and held Jelindel’s other hand. ‘Were I young and able, I would try to find the gems, too, Jellie girl. But not for the same reason. No, I would be after the pentacle gems to rid the world of them. As any responsible person would.’

  It was hours past midnight when Hargav and Jelindel finally stood at the front door, bidding Madame Dione and her three apprentices goodnight. Annatel put her arms around Hargav and pressed her cheek against his.

  ‘This has been a magical night,’ she said. ‘You are so much more gentle and refined than other men. Is it only because you are so very young?’

  ‘I have not … been at sea for long,’ he managed to say, disentangling himself.

  ‘I like you as you are, not strong and hard and rough like Jel.’

  ‘Give him time,’ said Jelindel. ‘The next time we call in, Hargav will be just like me.’

  ‘No, I want him just like he is, and I shall have him as he is!’ Annatel said, stamping her foot. She gently touched Hargav’s bruised eye and brought her fingers to her lips. Then she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips.

  ‘So, you won the heart of a lady,’ said Jelindel, as they made their way back to the ship.

  Hargav glowered. ‘She’s just turned fourteen – that hardly counts.’

  ‘So are you.’

  ‘I’m different,’ Hargav declared. ‘I’m a boy and I have a black eye.’

  ‘Nice touch,’ laughed Jelindel. ‘A soft, refined, approachable boy who nevertheless has a battle scar. But look, it’s fading already,’ she said, touching it. She frowned pityingly as Annatel had moments before.

  Hargav pulled away and scowled. ‘Well, who are they, anyway? Anyone would think they’ve never seen a male before. Their hands were everywhere – especially that Annatel’s.’

  ‘Madame Dione is a witch. The girls are trainee witches – she has a coven, but you only met her seniors.’

  ‘What? You mean I’ve been kissed by a witch?’ exclaimed Hargav in horror.

  ‘She started her apprenticeship at ten. Apprenticeships are three years, Annatel is fourteen … yes, it is reasonable to assume that Annatel is a witch.’

  Hargav allowed himself time to think before gulping. ‘But she might have turned me into a worm.’

  ‘Might have?’

  Hargav hurriedly checked his hands and legs. They were still there.

  ‘Very funny. But seriously, now that I think about it, the place did go quiet for about half an hour. All I could hear was Anna
tel and myself talking. The sounds of the other two girls washing the pots and things, and the crackling of the fire, it was just somewhat … well, there, but not there. I mean, that had to be a spell. It was Annatel, wasn’t it? She wanted to make lewd suggestions to me in private.’

  ‘Did she?’ Jelindel asked, brow raised.

  ‘Well, no,’ Hargav admitted, almost reluctantly.

  ‘The spell was Madame Dione’s. She and I had matters to discuss. Some time ago, I went on a great journey with two friends, Daretor and Zimak. I was forced to commit an injustice against them. It was for all the best reasons, but that is seldom any comfort to a victim.’

  Hargav’s voice was incredulous. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I had to, well, have them banished to a distant place. I had no choice in the matter, you understand, but that is no excuse for not trying to get them back.’

  ‘But if you get them back, surely they will be angry with you,’ Hargav observed.

  ‘Spoken like a real man of the world,’ Jelindel said. ‘Oh yes, they will be very annoyed. They may want revenge.’

  ‘Then why bring them back?’ Hargav asked. ‘Surely you should leave them be.’

  ‘Because I am not the sort of person who banishes his friends to distant places, then forgets about them. By now, I suspect, their anger might have cooled. Madame Dione has given me some advice and information. If the chance to rescue my comrades presents itself, I shall know what to do.’

  Hargav thought about this for a while as they walked.

  ‘So are you continuing with your magician lessons?’

  ‘No. I have just picked up some magic here and there, and I seem to have a strong natural talent. It probably runs in the family.’

  ‘You mean there are witches in your family?’

  ‘Well, yes, but the technical term is warlock for a male witch, which I could be if I was willing to study and serve an apprentice ship with an accredited Adept.’ Some instinct stopped Jelindel from adding that Madame Dione had been her occasional teacher.