He wished he could join the party. The urge to lose himself in the crowd was as painful as a festering wound. Why had he agreed when Trevor proposed he meet with the Society of Sorcerous Sciences for the first time tonight? And why had he sworn to stay with Trevor all evening? He would keep those oaths. What was left of his honor was at stake.
But he’d forgotten tonight was New Year’s Night.
He didn’t fit in here. He wished he’d been able to stay with the tribe as a bone carver, even as merely the old man’s assistant. Even if they only let him carve buttons for outlanders. He’d been good at carving. Everything he did was wrong now.
Someone grabbed his arm, but didn’t get a firm grip on his oversized coat. Viper shook the offending hand away without bothering to look at the drunk. Everyone was drunk tonight. Drunk and happy. Everyone except him.
He didn’t fit in tonight, but he’d like to give it a try. If the old man would release him from his promises.
He gave up his last hope of enjoying the night when Trevor grimaced and avoided the street where a line of dancers leaped the steps of the Thunderer courting the Wind Dancer. At least, that’s what he thought they were doing. The steps didn’t look quite right. But it looked like fun.
Trevor must be as old as the desert to ignore the celebration.
Only horrid old men would be at the inn tonight. Anybody worth meeting was enjoying the New Year. Why couldn’t he join the fun? What did he care about the state of the world? They won’t even talk about magic, Trevor said. Magic would be interesting.
He felt like he’d been promised fried grubs, but had been handed rotted cabbage. Stinky, long-buried rotted cabbage.
Viper tried to lag without being left behind altogether, but Trevor didn’t even notice. By the time they reached the Trader’s Inn, the jubilant clamor faded to an echo and a memory. The silent street glowed almost day-bright in the light of four moons.
Trevor stalked into the tavern as if he were hot on the trail of a runaway bahtdor hatching.
The Racer set while Viper lingered on the porch. When he glanced inside, the inn was darker and even quieter than the street. For a moment he thought the common room was empty, that Trevor had made a mistake. Maybe he’d be free to join the party?
When his eyes adjusted to lantern light his stomach slithered through a crack in the floor. He kicked at the doorsill and glanced back into the street. He leaned his head against the doorjamb and smothered a moan.
A horde of horrid white-headed people hovered around the fireplace in the far corner. Surely Trevor was the youngest of these ancients.
Trevor glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t stand there with the door open, child. It’s cold outside.” He strutted toward the sorcerers’ corner.
Viper slammed the door. Or tried to. It crept toward the threshold like a nercat pussyfooting across water. He had to shove his whole weight against the handle to force it shut.
It wasn’t fair to be trapped in here tonight. He slunk along the darkest stretch of wall and concentrated on holding back tears. Anger did that to him sometimes. He wasn’t crying, he was furious.
This would be the most boring night of his whole life.
“What has gotten into that boy?” Trevor paused and peered his way. “Please come over here. You can’t hear a word from there. Really, child. Show better manners.”
Viper clenched his fists. Worms wiggled in his belly until he thought he’d throw up. This was worse than burying the stew a few days ago. Worse than cleaning the spare bedrooms. Worse than facing down an abuelo snake.
He settled into a chair a couple of paces behind Trevor, out of the firelight, and glared fiercely when his mentor tried to motion him closer. His feet dangled high above the ground, and the slats of the hard wooden chair dug into his back, but he’d sit there and redeem his honor even if it killed him.
Trevor raised his eyebrows, but turned away when the conversation resumed.
“Dragons are a children’s myth.” A man with a nose to rival a bahtdor’s snout slapped his thigh. “The notion makes a frightening story for a stormy night, good entertainment. Nothing more.”
“No, no, no!” Trevor shook his finger at the stout man. “I’ve spoken to three people who have seen dragons personally.”
Dragons? Dragons were real?
“Four.” An old man folded his hands over his round belly and looked up from the fire. “I saw dragons near Sedra-Kei. The winged weasels don’t live there, bless the Seven Temples, but that’s where I saw them.” In the lantern light, his silver hair glowed brighter than the white heads surrounding him, as if he were lit up by magic.
“Where do they live?” asked Bahtdor Nose.
Viper leaned closer.
“Why, in the Dragon’s Eye Range to the north, of course.”
Bahtdor Nose honked with laughter. “The Dragon’s Eye Range? How convenient. And north of Sedra-Kei, yet. You old fool, there is nothing north of Sedra-Kei except ocean. Everybody knows that.”
The group laughed and cheered for the big-nosed man, but Viper studied the silvery man thoughtfully. The map Trevor’d left on the kitchen table yesterday showed a continent of mountains north of Sedra-Kei. Could there truly be dragons in that strange land, or was the old man weaving a story?
Trevor ignored the others and leaned forward to stare at the silver-haired man. “What did they look like?”
Viper dragged his chair closer, trying not to catch anyone’s attention, until he sat behind Trevor and the old man.
“I saw a blue one as big as this inn,” Silver Hair said reluctantly, “and a year later, another as red as good port. But mind you, I didn’t get too close. It’s not healthy.”
“He didn’t get too close!” Bahtdor Nose sounded so much like his namesake that Viper jerked back in his seat. “The old fool saw some pretty birds and he has the gall to tell us he’s seen dragons. Har-harrr!”
Silver Hair shrugged and turned to watch the fire, almost as if he were alone in the room. The silvery glow around him dimmed.
“Leave him alone, Frujeur.” An old woman frail as gossamer poked Bahtdor Nose’s arm. “Samiderf was born in Sedra-Kei, and you’ve never gone so far. Besides, he’s old enough to be your great grandfather. Let him have his dreams.”
“Oh, Raulin,” Bahtdor-Nosed Frujeur whined. “Don’t steal my fire. I’m tired of the old fart’s stories.”
“Mind your manners, Frujeur.” Raulin turned her shoulder on him. “Trevor, have you heard those strange stories coming out of the north? I can’t make any sense of them.”
When the new conversation grew louder, Viper scooted his chair closer to Silver Haired Samiderf. “I believe you,” he whispered.
Samiderf looked at him sadly. “Perhaps you shouldn’t.”
Viper bounced in his chair. “But I do.” He froze and glanced at Trevor. Best to sit quietly. He didn’t need any witnesses to this conversation. “My people say dragons are only a myth, but they say cities that stand still are just a story, too.”
“And since there are real cities, there must be real dragons.”
“Maybe not. But you’ve been to this Sedra-Kei place, and I’ll wager none of these sandcrabs went that far.” Viper leaned closer. “The way you said it’s not healthy, that convinced me. You sounded like something really bad happened. What was it?”
The old man sighed. “I was very young both times, perhaps as young as you are. I ran, like everyone does. I didn’t want to become a monster’s dinner. But I saw the second dragon seize a man and eat him.”
“Thunderer’s drums,” Viper whispered. “I hope I only see dragons from far away. It’s dishonorable to run away, and I carry enough shame for a lifetime.”
“There are many kinds of honor, young man.” The old man smiled, and his silvery magic returned. “Don’t accept a credo you can’t live with, especially when you are no longer with the people who gave you that code. Discover your own form of honor. Now tell me, why are you in this stuffy room on the
First of the Racer? Why aren’t you out celebrating?”
“I promised Trevor I would come here with him.” Viper shrugged. “I think he’s trying to keep me out of trouble.”
“Elves are real!” Trevor bellowed.
Viper bolted upright in his chair and gripped the seat with both hands. Trevor was shouting?
And elves were real? Trevor had been keeping secrets. Or maybe he should listen to the old man more often.
Were there stories in the old books he was supposed to read? About elves?
About dragons?
Samiderf glanced at Trevor and shook his head. “He’s keeping you out of trouble?” He spread his hands. “Why don’t you tell him good night and go join the party?”
Trevor pounded his fists on the table. “I’ve seen them myself!”
“I think I’ll stay.” Viper grinned and pulled up his feet to sit cross legged on the wooden seat. “It’s getting interesting here.” Elves and dragons. If the conversation continued in this direction, they might forget and talk about real magic.
Chapter 9.
Lorel snatched the coins out of her mother’s hand, grabbed the canvas sack from the table, and dashed out the backdoor. No way was she giving her father time to show up and ground her again. Sixteen days trapped inside the shop stank like her brothers’ dirty socks. She’d say something rude and get grounded forever if she hung around.
Besides, if she hurried she might catch Faye at their usual meeting place.
She got to Ladysmith Street only a little late. Faye strolled down the lane ahead of her, heading toward Market Square.
“Today’s Alignment Day, boss!” Lorel shouted.
Faye turned around and waved. “Nice to see you again. I’m surprised you’re out of jail so soon.”
“Mom couldn’t stand me no more, so she sent me off to market.” She tossed the three coins into the air, caught them, and shoved them into her pocket. “I gotta buy bread for lunch. Today’s Alignment Day!”
Faye got a blank look on her face. “That does happen every few lunars.”
“Don’t you wanna go up on the seawall and watch the waves try and invade?”
“Not particularly. But the day is lovely enough I’m sure several of my friends will be there, taking in the views.” Faye shrugged. “I won’t mind going up there for a while.”
Walk the seawall with Faye’s snooty friends? They mostly ignored her, so the price wasn’t too high. She’d just be the granite-faced bodyguard and ignore them back.
“Hold up a bit, let me buy the bread first.” Mom would never trust her again if she forgot to bring lunch home.
She marched to the nearest bakery stall, traded her three pence for three long, crusty loafs and stuffed them into her sack.
Faye shook her head. “You might consider bargaining.”
“Ain’t got time for that crap.” Lorel tied the bag shut, swung it over her shoulder, and tied the string to the front of her belt. Any pickpocket who tried to steal her lunch was gonna get his arm broke. Maybe some noodle brain would try. She wanted to see if everybody’s arm broke as easily as Wolf’s did.
Breaking their arms was one way of stopping the gangs from hurting little kids. She hated taking the bruised-up babies home to their mamas. At least she hadn’t found any dead ones.
She followed Faye down Stonehouse Ter, past city hall and some rich folks’ houses, past the old palace and Weaver’s chapel. Did Faye live somewhere around here? Probably, but she’d never been invited to visit. Probably never would be. Rich folk were strange, and everything about Faye said rich.
Except Faye was nice. That made her different from all her snooty friends. Faye really cared about people. Even a bodyguard who got herself grounded for halfway to forever.
Lorel stood straighter and tried to look like a real bodyguard. She ignored the merchants who glanced at her and smiled. They didn’t know how scary she really was.
Finally they reached the shipyard, an unusually quiet place today. Only a few dockworkers hung around, staying well away from the ships braced in their cradles. Only a few people trudged up the spray-slick hundred and twelve steps to the top of the seawall.
No oxen turned the enormous wheels, no clanking chains slid along the wall. No sailors puttered around the ropes.
All she heard was seagulls. And the roar of the ocean. The magnificent, violent roar of the Alignment-tossed ocean.
Lorel grinned and waved at the stone staircase. “Race you to the top.”
Faye rolled her eyes. “I do not run. Ever.” She paused. “Short of an emergency, anyway.”
This was when bodyguarding weren’t no fun. She could make it almost to the top before she ran out of breath. She needed the practice to get all the way to the top.
She glanced at Faye’s classy velvet skirt and sighed. No way anybody could run in one of those, no matter how pretty it was. At least her dad never forced her to wear fancy dresses.
Of course, it might be nice to own one pretty dress. Nah, she’d look like a shaggy stork in a skirt like Faye’s.
Earth rumbled. She stepped forward and caught Faye when the boss staggered.
A ship listed. Its cradle swayed like a New Year’s drunk.
The earth shook again. The ship crashed to the ground.
Lorel scanned the area to be sure they weren’t near a ship or a loose cable. Alignment earthquakes had a habit of knocking loose stuff over.
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Faye whispered.
“Sure it is. Look up. Lots of folk are looking down at us. Alignments never bother the seawall.”
Faye sighed, but waved at somebody in bright red who raised one hand in reply. Probably one of her snooty friends.
She’d worry about them later. Right now she needed to coax the boss up to the seawall.
The man in red started down the steps. Faye smiled, lifted her skirts, and started to climb.
Lorel gaped at the boss’s goofy smile. What was that about? She looked harder at the guy in red. Weaver’s chamberpot. It was thread-snipping Jorjan. What a pain. Every time she quarreled with the miswoven creep, Faye got all pissy.
Lorel followed her, but wished she’d stayed home. At the shop? Maybe not. Putting up with the toad must be the price for today’s freedom.
Jorjan stopped and waited for them a third of the way down the steps.
Faye was breathless by the time she grabbed his hand, but she still had the mooncalf look on her face. What did she see in him? Didn’t she see beyond the fancy clothes?
He flashed a triumphant grin at Lorel as he put his arm around Faye’s shoulders. A grin with a big threat in it. He was probably still mad she’d broken Wolf’s arm. Or did he even care?
He aimed a snarky smile at Faye and squeezed her like he owned her. Lorel wished she could knock the smirk off his face, but the boss wouldn’t never let her. Somebody needed to protect that girl from her own self.
She trudged up the stairs behind the boss, wishing she could run instead. Wishing more she could toss Jorjan down a hundred of those steps.
Two soldiers in Zedisti colors were positioned at the top of the staircase. One said something, but she couldn’t understand him over the roar of the ocean.
Jorjan nodded to the soldiers like he thought he was king of Nashidra. Noodle brain.
The seawall vibrated when a wave crashed against it. Foamy spray leapt into the air. Lorel grinned.
Both soldiers bowed to Jorjan and Faye, nodded at her. Lorel ignored them. Seawall guards weren’t no good for nothing. Not when a Nashidran like Jorjan was around. Not ever, really. She’d never seen them do anything but drag a drunk down the steps. They didn’t even hit him. What a rotten job.
Speaking of jobs, Faye was getting way too far ahead of her. The boss crept along the inland side of the seawall walkway and clung to Jorjan like he’d bother to protect her.
Not that anyone could protect her from the glory of the ocean during an Alignment.
Lorel strol
led to the seaward edge of the walkway and leaned against the battlement.
A wave as tall as the chapel spire roared up the side of the seawall. Stone shuddered under her feet. Spray splattered against her face. She licked her lips and tasted salt and seaweed, adventure and distance lands. If only she could travel to see them.
The slick wall slid beneath her hands as she leaned farther out. Another wave crashed into stone just below her feet. She breathed deeply, wanting to feel the salt spray. To feel the ocean’s embrace.
Someone tapped her shoulder. She half turned and raised her eyebrows at the seawall guard. He pointed down the walkway.
Faye cowered behind a stone pavilion and pointed at her feet. Behind her, Jorjan grinned and pointed at his.
Lorel rolled her eyes. Bad enough she couldn’t stay to watch the ocean, but she had to put up with that frayed thread’s clowning, too?
Faye planted her hands on her hips.
Coward crap. The boss was getting grumpy. Lorel sighed and strolled away from the battlement.
“You’re wet!” Faye shouted. At least, that was what her lips seemed to say. Crashing waves drowned out her voice until Lorel joined them inside the stone pavilion. “Don’t you have any sense?”
What was wrong with getting wet? For winter, the day was warm enough, and the inside of her jacket was dry. Lorel shrugged.
Jorjan snickered. “No one’s ever accused her of good sense.”
Her fists balled tight, but she kept them at her sides.
Faye stepped between them. “Don’t tease her. I apologize for starting – restarting whatever quarrel you two have.”
Lorel stared at her, but clamped her jaw shut when she caught Jorjan staring, too. Hmm. Maybe Faye never disagreed with him before.
Another wave crashed against the seawall. Faye shuddered. Jorjan cringed, but straightened quickly. Spray rained down around the pavilion.
Spray that high? Lorel peered inland. Nope, it was real rain.
Faye groaned. “I’m not dressed for this.”
Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1) Page 8
