Eastward Dragons

by Andrew Linke

  “And what of the personal risk? You do not have the reputation of a dwarf who travels far from his accounting house, yet if my sources tell the truth you have expended no small measure of influence and gold to see yourself named to this expedition.”

  “You need not be coy with me, Master A’Mar. I am old, fat, and more known for my acuity with numbers than my wit at the dinner table.”

  Havil inclined his head, agreeing with his counterpart’s statement. “Why are you going on this expedition? Surely there are others in your clan who would be better suited to the strenuous expedition.”

  Jarom pursed lips and blew out a long stream of breath. His eyes drifted to the ornately woven patterns on the curtains, which were drawn back to reveal the rooftops of the city. Some trick of the brightflower pollen’s influence upon his brain, perhaps the same intensity that brought all of the numbers into focus in his mind when he took the snuff, caused the intertwining patterns of white and yellow threads to dance and shimmer in the late morning light, like light playing off the crystal spire of the distant temple. He chuckled and looked back to Havil A’Mar, who was watching him with narrowed eyes above his fastidiously trimmed beard and hollow cheeks.

  “I am old and not in the best of health. The thought has come to me that perhaps the time has come in my life when I ought pay homage to my ancestry and travel the wild roads myself.”

  Havil nodded, saying nothing. He had not expected such sentimentality from the famously literal Guild Barron.

  Just then the tall, beechwood doors to the inner office split open to emit Ranta, personal servant to Lord Biho Erdenech, master of the Commonwealth Guild Council. The wild curls of her red hair burst from beneath the shawl of her elegantly plain yellow dress, framing her pale features in a halo of fire.

  “Lord Erdenech will see you now, guild masters.”

  Havil rose slowly and nodded to the servant woman as Jarom extracted his squat body from the low chair that was provided for the comfort of the dwarves on the council. “You are as radiant as ever, Di-Ranta.”

  “Spare me your flattery, A’Mar,” she replied, turning her back on him and striding into the sunlit office of her master.

  Jarom’s soft laughter rumbled from deep within his chest as he lumbered up to stand beside Havil. “You will never win her heart, Havil. Just as well to save your efforts for the women of the court.”

  “Or I could pay for the services of the Companion Guild, as you do,” Havil shot back.

  “When you are as old, fat, and short as I am you may find yourself less derisive of their services,” Jarom replied, passing Havil and entering the office first. His sagging face split into a wide smile and he said, “Lord Erdenech! Thank you for inviting us to your offices on this most profitable morning.”

  The office of Lord Biho Erdenech was located on the third level of the Guild Council building in the central market of Tal Albahi, only a ten minute walk from the western wall of the royal castle. The eastern wall of the office was dominated by three large windows of clear glass, imported at great expense from the glassworks of the Brightflower Desert, which opened onto a wide balcony from which the heights of the royal palace could be seen. The proximity of the two centers of power was a fitting reminder of the “trader” aspect of the Trader Commonwealth’s name. Directly opposite the doors, centered on the northern wall of the chamber, Lord Erdenech lounged in a padded, high-backed chair behind his wide mahogany desk. Across from him sat Oppen Ralva, vice-counselor of the Translators Guild, a man known to both of the trade lords for his meticulous work in translating business documents.

  “Welcome!” Biho boomed, spreading his arms wide above his head and becoming with both for the men to come closer. He was a large man, in every sense of the word. Even seated, he towered over everyone else in the room and his broad shoulders carried enough gravity that his wide paunch nearly disappeared in comparison. “Please, Master Havil, pull up a chair and join us. Xi-Ranta, please bring a chair for Master Jorem. I fear I have neglected to make appropriate preparations for our esteemed colleague.”

  Jarom bowed his head in acknowledgement of the apparent courtesy and smoothly swallowed the implied insult.

  Havil bent slightly at the waist and nodded to Lord Erdenech and Counselor Ralva in turn. He was surprised to find the translator already in the room, and apparently well into his discussion with Lord Erdenech. It implied that the man, who would normally have taken a supporting position in any expedition, would instead be serving as his equal or better.

  “Master A’Mar, I was pleased to learn that you would be representing the Victuals Guild on our expedition,” Oppen said, rising from his seat and proffering his palm in greeting. “I have long admired the dignity of your dealings with the wine merchants of North Thalm.”

  “They wanted only to be treated as purveyors of a product, rather than drunken lushes, Master Ralva. Any trader worth his salt would have done as well as I,” Havil replied, pressing his palm atop that of his colleague in acknowledgement of the greeting.

  As Havil stepped back and settled into the chair beside Oppen, Biho laughed and said, “Do not be modest, Havil. Your predecessor in negotiations with the Thalman lords was so woefully incompetent that we very nearly ran out of wine here in the capital by the time you succeeded in renegotiating the trade agreement.”

  “As I said, any trader worth his salt.”

  Biho laughed and bent forward to lean his forearms atop his wide desk, which was for once clear of the mountains of pulp paper and parchment that generally crowded it.

  “And please do not take my greeting of Master A’Mar before you as a slight, Master DyZhokar. Indeed, your legend for fiscal acumen is so great among the guild masters that I was shocked to hear that you would be journeying with us, rather than sending an under master,” Oppen said, turning away from the others and extending his palm to Jarom.

  “None taken, Vice-Counselor Biho. As I was explaining to our colleague before the doors were opened to us, I am growing old and the longing for travel has once more stirred within me. In all honesty, I do not…” Jarom stopped speaking and nodded a thanks to Ranta as she pushed a customized chair up behind him. He climbed the three narrow steps built into the front of the chair and settled back atop the cushion, which creaked with his weight, but held firm. He adjusted his robes and scarves, then continued, “As I was saying, I would not be surprised if I do not return from this expedition.”

  “Why might that be?” Oppen asked, his voice maintaining the diplomatic level for which all Guild translators were renowned.

  “He is old and clearly anticipates dying on the expedition,” Biho interjected.

  Havil drew a slow breath. He knew of the Guild Lord’s impetuousness, as well as his distaste for dwarves, which Biho believed himself to disguise far better than he actually did, but it was simply bad form to interrupt a man of Jarom DyZhokar’s rank and experience.

  Though the sleight was once more directed at him, Jarom merely continued speaking as if he had not heard Biho’s interruption. “I fully expect to make my way safely to the Dragon Kingdoms. As safely as the rest of the expedition, at least. Once we have arrived there I ought to be able to conduct whatever trade is necessary and determine what valuables the Dragon Lords have to offer the Commonwealth. In stating that I might not return, I meant only that I am indeed an old man possessed of a longing for his ancestral homeland, so there is some possibility that I might seek to purchase a retirement in the dwarven lands to the northeast of the Rainbow Falls upon the return leg of our expedition.”

  “Not an unreasonable proposition,” Havil said, before Biho could interrupt again.

  “Indeed,” Oppen said, settling back in his chair.

  “Yes, yes, and I am certain that Havil will make his way westward when he grows weary of peddling spices and wine. Let us get back to the point of today’s momentous gathering,” Biho said, sitting up and drumming his ponderous fingers on the top of his desk. The light of seven different gem
stones glittered from his rings and cast dancing patterns of different colors on the far wall of the chamber.

  Havil grimaced. Of course, Biho did not limit his prejudices to dwarves, or even to the city’s large elven population.

  “Now, as I am sure you two have deduced, our esteemed colleague Oppen will be leading this expedition to the forgotten east. He might not have as much experience in leading trade expeditions as either of you gentlemen, or even the other companions who will accompany you on this journey, but he certainly has more diplomacy in his eyebrows than either of you do in your whole body.”

  “How many will be in the trade delegation, Biho?” Jarom asked. Havil could not be certain if the old dwarf had intentionally dropped the Guild Lord’s honorific or if he was merely speaking plainly, now that they had entered the meat of the conversation.

  “Five, perhaps six guild representatives. The rune scribes are trying to leverage their way into the expedition, but the King has insisted that direct knowledge of magical technology be restricted on the expedition, which is why we will explicitly not be traveling with any representatives from the New Tower. My contacts within the palace inform me that we may even have a Warden traveling with us on the expedition, with the explicit mission of preventing any knowledge of Commonwealth dream magic from being transmitted to the Dragon Lords.”

  “Do we know whether the Dreaming phenomenon extends to the forgotten east?” Oppen asked.

  “It would not be called the forgotten east if we knew explicitly what to expect, now would it?”

  “I mean only…”

  “You mean only that you wish to know the unknowable. This is not a matter of diplomacy, Counselor Ralva. There are no intermediate gray regions of what we may or may now know. All that we know about the eastern lands is that they worship dragons, which no credible living soul can claim to have seen in generations, and that all paths by land or sea have been closed for nearly as long.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, Lord Erdenech, but what closed those trade paths?” Havil said.

  Biho turned his attention away from the beleaguered translator, whose expression remained completely composed, and said, “The sea routes were frequently pillaged by drakes throughout the fifth and sixth century. As the guilds consolidated power, sometime around the six hundred and fiftieth year, it was determined that the best course of action would be to cease wasting good ships on that particular route, especially after the disaster of Bloodfire Bay.”

  “Which was?” Havil prompted.

  “Twenty-three ships lost in a single day when the waters of Bloodfire ignited around them. This was back in 673. Scarce a dozen crewmen escaped and swam safely to land. Fewer still reached friendly aid and succeeded in returning to the Commonwealth.”

  “And what of the overland routes?”

  “I believe that I can be of some service in that regard,” Jarom said. He sat up as straight as he could and looked up at the other men, ignoring the sour look that crossed Biho’s face as he did so. “The ancient overland route between the Commonwealth and the Dragon Kingdoms was, and I imagine will be for us, an arduous journey that required to cooperation of numerous peoples and kingdoms. The first of these challenges is to be found in high mountains that comprise the eastern border of the Commonwealth. The only way past the mountains is to travel thousands of leagues north, to be permitted access to one of the dwarven roads that carve up from the base of the mountains to their heights, or to use the great water lift at the Rainbow Falls.”

  “And that is the route which you will follow,” Biho declared, seizing the opportunity to wrench the narrative back from Jarom. “Among your expedition will be Tracha Runsen. There is no better man for the job of repairing ancient runic and mechanical devices. Entirely loyal to the king, so he will be in charge of all magical devices on the expedition.”

  “A wise choice, his family has been in the business for generations,” Havil said, nodding.

  “Precisely. If any man can repair the water lift, it is Tracha.”

  “So we are to take the water route then?” Havil asked.

  “Yes. That is the recommendation of your guide.”

  “I was about to ask about him when you opened the conference to our companions.” Oppen spread his hands in an inquiring gesture and said, “When will we have the opportunity to meet with the man you call our guide? This whole expedition has been assembled with great rapidity and the overwhelming support of the throne, but I do question the degree to which we have been kept separated from the man who supposedly inspired the entire effort.”

  Biho sat back in his ornately carved chair and rubbed a hand over his wide, smoothly shaved jaw. For the first time that morning, the others saw a sign of trouble narrowing his eyes as he hesitated, then said, “He is still being interviewed by the royal guards.”

  “Interviewed?” Oppen scoffed. “We all know what that means. How is he to guide us on a perilous expedition in less than a month’s time if he is in a weakened condition? For that matter, why would he?”

  Biho cleared his throat and tried to clear from his mind the image of when he had last seen the guide. It was not a scene that he wished to witness again. “That is a matter for the court. Our responsibility lies in ensuring the trade profitability of this expedition. Now,” he leaned down and pulled a large ledger from a drawer in the side of his desk and set it on the desktop before him, “I believe we have matters of provisioning to discuss.”

  ⫛

  The manacles fell from Rajin’s wrists, but he did not move his arms. He waited, eyes fixed upon the guard who held the chains as he stepped backward and began gathering the links into a ponderous loop around his left arm. Their eyes met and the guard, a veteran of the palace guard who had stood shoulder to shoulder with King Berech during the assault on the New Tower, felt a chill of fear run down his spine.

  “Thank you,” Rajin whispered. “I will never forget this.”

  The guard swallowed hard, suddenly grateful for the dreamforged breastplate that he wore. He backed away from Rajin, turned to bow to the king, then hurriedly strode from the room to return the manacles to the dungeon keeper.

  Rajin looked down at his wrists, where his skin had been chafed and bled of all color by the accursed manacles. He could not blame the castle guard for chaining him, but to use manacles laced with nihilim was a cruelty that he had presumed unconscionable, even for the Commonwealth.

  “Rajin bloodcursed, you have been delivered from your bonds, in accordance with the agreement you reached with our secretary,” King Berech said, rising from his gilded throne. The king was a man in the prime of his life, with thick black hair that would have burst into untamed curls were it not held back at the nape of his neck with a silver clasp. He wore a short beard and, in memory of his youth spent training with the royal guard, he scorned the lavish robes of his predecessors in favor of a finely embroidered doublet worn loose at the neck to reveal the fine links of dream forged chain mail beneath.

  King Berech rested a fingertip on the pommel of his sword, which always hung from the arm of his throne when he sat in state, and said, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Rajin glanced down at his bruised body, bloodied wrists, and soiled shorts, then raised an eyebrow as he looked to the king and said, “I would not reject a new set of clothing, seeing as those which I wore when I arrived have been confiscated or destroyed in the course of your… most gentle treatment of my person.”

  A faint chorus of chuckles arose from those members of the advisory council who were seated in the row behind a long table to Rajin’s left. He glanced to the men and smiled to see them cowering behind the embroidered tablecloth and piles of sweetmeats and fruit, like wizened soldiers cowering behind a battlement.

  Rajin flashed them his most terrifying grin. “I would also request that my sword be returned to me, as I may have need of it soon.” One of the councilors, a balding man who Rajin vaguely recalled as being responsible for the royal bank, splutter
ed and made to rise from his seat.

  “Sit down, Gatha. The prisoner will not harm you,” King Berech said, waving at the councilor. “As for you, we will require that you stop agitating our councilors and guards. You are still a condemned man, Rajin, and whatever benefit the Commonwealth gains from your services, we will always regret that you escaped from justice under our father’s reign.”

  Rajin shrugged his scarred shoulders and replied, “I was better at running than King Tybald’s men were at chasing. Perhaps if your rule were stronger you would not fear my woodland friends so much. Perhaps you would dispense this so called justice to me.”

  King Berech’s fingers tightened around the grip of the sword and he pulled his lips into a tight line. These were the moments that drew the line between being a king and a soldier, he reminded himself. Out on the borderlands, away from all of these cursed advisors and the complexities of court and guild politics, he would have sliced this cursed heretic’s head from his body and damned the consequences, but as king it was necessary to do what was best for the realm. “The palace guard will escort you to a more comfortable room and see that you are fed and clothed, Va-Rajin. Please refrain from murdering anyone while you are in the city.”

  Rajin smiled and bowed to the king, then turned and bowed to the advisory council. “I am in your service, worthy merchants.”

  At a nod from the king, the doors of the audience chamber split open. Five guards stepped forward from the walls and formed a box around Rajin. The group strode from the chamber and through the halls of the palace until they reached the guest quarters that had been set aside for Rajin. There he was permitted to enter the room alone, though two of the armored guards remained outside the door.

  As the group departed the audience chamber, King Berech shook his head in exasperation and settled back into his throne. Once the doors had closed, the advisors erupted from their chairs in a clamor of questions and demands. Hands waved. Goblets trembled in the hands of the aged men, spilling dark wine upon the tablecloth.