by Arthur Slade
“Whenever you’re done staring, you should tell me where to land,” Brax said. “I have no desire to fly over Avenus. There are ballistae batteries at every wall to keep winged invaders away.”
I had read about the massive bolt-throwing bows. They had been installed after an elite regiment of Immortals had attacked the city using gliders. Ill winds called up by a sorcerer had sent them into the ocean to drown. “Those are not meant for dragons,” I said.
“Dragons or a man in a kite, they’ll go through either. And I don’t like having holes in me.”
“Then let’s find a quiet and well-hidden place to land,” I said.
Both of us searched. Even though it was still dark, I could see a great distance with my dragon eye. There were no high mountains, but the hills were tall. That was perhaps where the Empire had launched its failed glider attack.
“There,” I pointed.
“There,” Brax said at the same time. Then he laughed. “Ah, I forget you have my eye. Well, I don’t completely forget because there’s a horrible itching pain where my eye used to be. I may still have a pinch of bitterness about that.”
We landed on a hill thick with trees. And the trees were thick with broad leaves—the foliage would provide cover for Brax. “It’s a good thing you’re not a Quant dragon,” I said. “They are gigantic. It’d be impossible to hide.”
“That’s right,” he said, gesturing at his body. “Good thing I’m a scrawny Scythian.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Well,” Brax continued. “Since Quants can’t speak and have no control over their appetites, he’d have gobbled you up right away. That would have saved you and me a lot of time and effort.”
“You have such an interesting way of looking at life.”
He turned his palms upwards. It made him seem almost human. “I am a curious and strange beast.” He pointed at me. “Be quick with your mission, Carmen. Find this friend of yours, warn her and depart. Hiding under leaves and branches is no noble pursuit for a dragon.”
“I’ll return,” I said. “As fast as my feet can fly.”
I turned away. He was already pulling branches and leaves over himself. I jogged down the hill. My legs were sore from the hours of riding and it was good to stretch them out.
After about twenty minutes I realized my right hand no longer hurt. This surprised me since two holes had been burnt in it just over twenty-four hours earlier. I pulled at my bandages.
I nearly tripped when I saw what had happened.
The holes had healed! The skin was still red where the acid had burned me and when I squeezed my hand, it did send a spark of pain. But the holes had come together. It was as if a fortnight of healing had taken place in a few hours. What strange magic was this? My poultice hadn’t been that strong.
I kept moving, still staring at my hand. I eventually put the bandages back on.
It was two hours on foot to get to the city gates. The sun was rising in the East and painting the walls of the city red. The ocean here was the lightest color of blue I’d ever seen.
I pulled my cloak around me and, remembering how odd my eye looked, retrieved my old patch from a pocket and put it on. With my dragon eye covered I felt more than half blind—I wasn’t as steady on my feet. In the few weeks of having that eye my body, my balance and my brain had gotten used to seeing everything through it.
There were already merchants and other travelers lining up to go into the city. I joined a crowd, each of them speaking in the same tongue as me but with an Avenian accent. I chose not to converse with anyone. Even the patch over my eye was too memorable. If I’d had time and enough material, I would have made a mask.
Soldiers guarded the gates. They were clad in bronze armor designed to make it look like they had perfect chest muscles. The female guards wore the same type of armor, and I felt a bit shy looking at either male or female soldiers. It was like they were walking around half-naked.
“You there,” one of the female soldiers yelled. She pointed at me. “Off wit your head.”
7
Thespian Way
“What?” I said. I threw myself back a step and bumped into a woman with a basket of eggs. None of them broke, but that didn’t stop her from swearing at me.
“Off with your head!” the guard shouted.
I reached for my daggers.
“It’s too wurm a day to ’ave one on!” Now she was pointing a spear at me. “Off wit your ’ead.”
I suddenly smiled and relaxed. The woman’s accent had confused me. She’d said, “Off with your hood.”
I pulled back my hood, and she stared at me for a long moment then nodded to indicate I could pass. I wasn’t certain whether her command was just a show of power or a rule about entering Avenus with your face uncovered. Either way, both soldiers had had a good look at my face.
Soon I was walking along perfectly laid cobblestone streets. The houses and other buildings were made with white sandstone bricks and had tiny gardens out front. Everything looked neat, not the same as in Myra. That city had slums. Perhaps Avenus had slums too, but I bet even the refuse was piled in a tidy manner.
The scroll had said Megan was on a street called Thespian Way. I knew thespians were the actors who entertained the people of Avenus. I had expected to find a stage with some rooms attached. Maybe she’d even become an actress herself! Though that seemed an odd way to hide.
Instead Thespian Way was an inn. And it was the oldest unkempt building I’d seen so far—a gray-stoned two-story structure that leaned to one side as if it were a little drunk. The garden outside was long dead—a collection of vines and stalks of plants that stunk like pee. My guess was that those inside the inn didn’t stumble very far when their bladders were full.
I pulled up my hood and stepped inside. It took a moment for my eye to adjust to the darkness. If my dragon eye hadn’t been behind a patch, it would have been instant. All I could see at first were shadows, and all I could smell was the stink of burnt food. And with it came that stench of belching, which made my stomach turn a little. It reminded me of how Corwin would often belch in my face as a child.
Come to think of it, he did that even a few weeks ago.
Just another reason to kill him.
There were about twenty patrons sitting around tables and benches. I’d arrived early enough that several travelers were having their breakfasts. The nearest man was using his hands to scoop food from a metal plate covered in hard-boiled eggs, burnt ham and pickles. All I’d had in the last few days was a handful of hard crackers. I wanted to steal his food.
I marched up to the counter. The innkeeper looked like he’d spilled half the morning’s meal on his apron. He ignored me as he regaled a few of his guests with a tale about his champion fighting dog. When he was done his gruesome story, he quaffed a beer and came over.
“What can I get you for?” he asked. His beard was gray and flecked with foam.
“I’m looking for a young woman,” I said. “I believe she’s staying here.”
“My clientele are the private type,” he said. “Who might you be to her?”
“I’m—I’m her cousin,” I said. “I haven’t seen her for two years. She wrote a letter to my mom and said I could find her here.”
Maestru Alesius had taught us that mentioning a mother would often disguise a lie. Even the most bitter man likely had fond thoughts about his mother.
“And what is your cousin’s name?” the innkeeper asked.
“That’s the thing. She changed it and I’ve forgotten the new one. It’s a stage name.”
The innkeeper let out a gruff laugh. “Many a patron has changed a name. It's part and parcel of what thespians do. One name doesn’t work to drum up money… try another.”
“My cousin owes my mother coins,” I said. “And she’s paying it off by teaching me the craft.”
“Ha, good luck with that. You only have one eye, so you'll be stuck playing the one-eyed goddess." He scratch
ed at his mushroom-shaped nose. "What does this cousin look like?”
“She has red hair and is about as tall as me. She may go by Megan or Mary or Mandra.”
He nodded, and it looked like he was about to say something, then he stepped back and shouted, “We need more bacon, darlin’.” A hag of a woman came through the kitchen door and nodded, then turned around and went back. At the same time he reached for a goblet on a shelf behind him.
I noted that he also pulled a string attached to the wall. Was that how he got more bacon? I was again aware of how hungry I was, but I didn’t want to eat until I’d found Megan.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“Know who?” His grin revealed brownish teeth. He tapped the counter with one finger.
I realized what he was asking for. I retrieved two coins from my cloak and softly set them on the counter so they didn’t clink.
His smile widened. Then he looked at the ceiling. He looked at me, then at the ceiling again. Clearly he didn’t want his patrons to know the was giving up the location of one of his clients. Being a snitch was not a good characteristic in an innkeeper.
“Thank you,” I said. I turned away and walked toward the stairs. Obviously the man was aware people would come looking for Megan, or he wouldn’t have been so reticent to tell me her location—and yet he’d sold her out for two coins.
I reached the top of the stairs. There were two doors in the hallway ahead of me, but the innkeeper had gestured directly above him. So I went down the hall to the room at the end.
I listened. There wasn’t a noise.
“Megan,” I whispered. I knocked lightly. “Megan?”
There was no response.
Then I remembered the innkeeper had pulled a string. I thought it led to a bell in the kitchen, but perhaps it went directly up to this room and sent a warning to Megan. She might be fleeing at this moment. He likely charged her extra to keep an eye out for any pursuers, and now he would pocket both of our coins.
I said the word Enderos and made a motion. The door unlocked, too loudly. But I pushed it open, not foolish enough to step right in. It revealed a small room; the covers on the cot were thrown off and the window was open. She had fled!
I dashed through the doorway, intending to run to the window and see if I could spot her.
But when I’d crossed the threshold, I knew I’d made a mistake.
Because something heavy—very heavy—smashed into my back and slammed me to the floor.
8
Meeting a Traitor
How stupid! was my first thought. The room had been set up to lure me in and someone had been hiding above the door. That someone had knocked every last bit of wind out of my lungs and was squishing me into the floor. I slid to the side just as a dagger was jabbed next to my face, cutting off a chunk of my hair.
My hair! I’d never been that fond of it, but I preferred to have it on my head.
I rolled away, making the next stab miss me and jumped to my feet, daggers out. My right hand barely had the strength to hold tight.
Facing me was a woman with short dark hair and such anger on her face it distorted her eyes and nose. “You!” she said. “You. He sends you to kill me!”
I deflected the next blow, and my mind caught up with what I was seeing. It was Megan. She’d cut her hair and dyed it black. Her eyes were tinged with rabid madness. “You betrayed us.” She lunged, and I dodged, but as she brought the blade back, it cut along my ribs.
“Oww!” I said. “I didn’t betray anyone.”
“Liar!” This time she feinted to the left then came in from the right—my blind side. I still had the patch on and didn’t have an extra moment to remove it. I only guessed at the angle and was able to guide her arm away with a punch. “All of our friends! You helped Corwin kill them, you witch.”
She took a moment to slap the hilt of her dagger against the wall. "Get up!" she shouted.
I was standing, so I didn't know why she'd yell that. Perhaps she was going insane.
“I didn't kill anyone!” I shouted again.
I blocked her next diving attack, but she surprised me with a kick that jarred my innards and knocked me into the middle of the room. She had always been good with her legs. I was better with blades if I had both eyes, but when I reached for my patch, she saw that as an opening and drove me backwards.
“I’m going to pay you back for their deaths,” she seethed. “I’ve made a list. Every friend dead. Every maestru. You will suffer.”
With each word she was forcing me to retreat, and it was all I could do to deflect the blows. I tried a disarming move with my right hand, but when our blades collided mine went flying. My hand, not quite healed, was just too weak to hold it.
That got a chilling smile out of her.
“For Maestru Arvid,” she said. The blade sliced my ear, leaving a small cut. “For Maxen!” This stab missed my face. He was one of the fifth years. I'd seen his body.
Megan had forced me to stumble back against the wall, and she hit it with her hilt. On purpose. Then redoubled her attacks.
My only choice was to run. And so I made a feint which she reacted to, and I then slipped past her and charged toward the hallway. The patch over my eye made me misjudge and I slammed into the doorway, spun around and hit the opposite wall. I was up in a heartbeat, but Megan was on me and swinging her blades, driving me back.
Two things happened. The first was the door beside me opened and Thord stepped out. We both had the same look of shock on our faces. He swung out with his sword and blocked Megan’s blow, saving me.
“Thanks,” I said. “I can’t believe—”
Thord punched me square in the side of the head.
All went dark.
9
A Step Behind
The light eventually returned. I opened my right eye. Two foggy but familiar faces were floating in front of me. The walls swirled behind them. They’d left my eye patch on and, when I tried to move, I discovered they’d bound me tight enough to pinch the skin on my arms.
“I’m not a traitor,” I whispered.
Megan was a step behind Thord and aiming a one-handed crossbow at me. The bolt had a very glittery and sharp point. They weren’t powerful enough to go through armor, but would put a hole in flesh.
Or my forehead.
“Ha! Lies! Lies! Lies!” Megan shouted. I expected the bolt to be loosed with every word. “We discovered your list of kills in your cloak.” She shook the scroll at me with her other hand. “You’re a murderer.”
“I’m not!" My thoughts were coming together far too slowly. “I stole that from Gregum.”
“More like you work with him,” she said. “Is he soon to arrive? Or do you let the Immortals finish your prey?”
“I'm here to warn you.” I looked at Thord. His face was unreadable, though if I was to venture a guess I would say he was angry. “And what do you believe, Thord?” I asked.
“You survived graduation night," he spoke as though thinking about each word. "You being in league with your brother is the most likely explanation for that.”
“It isn’t!” I said. “I’d never join him. He’s evil.”
“You had me fooled.” Megan was aiming at my head now. “All those years of being standoffish and arrogant. I thought it was just the whole I’m missing an eye thing. But you and your brother were planning to betray and kill everyone.”
“Look at that doll,” I said. They’d plucked the doll from my cloak and left it on the floor. It had red hair. “That doll was you, Megan. Gregum had dolls as trophies for all his kills.”
“More like you collected them,” Megan said. "Or you made them while you were locked away in your room planning all this.”
“I would never collect dolls!” I shouted.
“Poking holes in dolls does seem like Gregum,” Thord said. He was holding the doll now and his big hand made it look small.
“Don’t you take her side.” Megan pointed the scroll his way b
ut kept the bow aimed at me.
“I’m not. I don’t mean she’s not working with him.”
“Did you learn nothing of me in all the years we studied together?” I asked.
“I thought I knew you,” Thord said. “But you are a lone wolf. Plus, you aren’t the friendliest girl in the world.”
"I—I... " My thoughts were caught in molasses. I must have been friendly once in all those years.
“Why are we even discussing this?” Megan asked. “We should stab her through the heart and flee. Her helpers could be along at any moment.”
“Stabbing me would be a mistake,” I said. "I can prove that I'm on your side. I really can." Though the moment I said it, I had no idea what proof I could offer.
“How?” Thord asked.
“With logic. Just like Maestru Alesius taught us.”
“Oh, this I have to hear.” Megan looked tougher with her hair short. “Impress us with your logic, Cyclops.”
I ignored the fact she used that name. I breathed in and said, “First, I am here on my own. No Immortals at my side. No Gregum or Scyllia or Corwin.” I spat each of their names. “Why would I attempt to kill you without help?”
“You like to work alone,” Thord said. “So that’s not surprising.”
“Yes, but look at that list of dead assassins. Do you recognize any of them?”
“Some are familiar,” Megan said.
“They were seasoned men and women.” I wasn’t certain where I was leading them. My logic was failing me. I closed my right eye, hoping to block the pain of my headache and to clear my thoughts. With that eye closed and the patch over the other, I couldn't see a thing. But doing that gave me an idea. “It is Corwin’s great plan to kill the rest of the assassins and win favor with the emperor. Do you honestly think he'd trust me with that work? His sister. The girl with one eye." I pointed at my patch. "I can't even aim straight. He teased me mercilessly about my missing eye." I wanted to shout and you too at Megan, but held back. "And furthermore, do you believe I could work with him? He's the one who cut my eye out of my head.”
