The Last Lies of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  “How’s my dragon?” he asked.

  “Oh, she’s an absolute sweetheart.” Jaig gingerly stepped over the rough ground toward them. “Sleeping so sound, half my guys are convinced she’s dead.”

  Well, that was a good sign.

  “I’ve positioned somebody at the cave around the clock,” Jaig continued, “smashing those vials just like the Short Fuse showed us.”

  Ard studied Jasperson’s eyes. There was no trace of a lie, but that didn’t mean all was well. Sounded like there were plenty of others in Jaig’s employ who could have sold out to Hedge.

  “I want to see her,” Ard said.

  Jasperson nodded. “Of course.” He reached down and slipped into the shoes he’d been holding. “Watch the hut, Basgid,” he said to their stout guide. Then he set off down a worn footpath, waving for Ard and Quarrah to follow.

  “Has anyone else come to see her?” Ard asked when the three of them were alone.

  “Short Fuse was here to check in over a week ago,” he answered. “Been quiet since then. Hey… What’s that I heard about you getting nabbed by the Regulation a spell back?”

  Ard shrugged, putting on a puzzled expression. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Jaig chortled. “Blune said there were a thousand Reggies piling on the docks to take you down. And some of them glass-headed folk… Like the old Prime Isless.”

  “Only a thousand Reggies?” Ard said. “And you believed it?” He was quick to turn the conversation away from the Glassminds. Jaig already knew too much, having seen Gloristar when she’d moved Motherwatch into his cave.

  “Now, I didn’t say I believed it,” Jasperson defended.

  “What would you do if I had been arrested?” Ard asked. “If Short Fuse and I both got nabbed, what would you do with the dragon?”

  Jaig ran a hand through his messy hair, breathing out slowly like he might exhale the right answer. “Suppose I’d wait for word from you,” he said. “Even in a Reggie Stockade, I figure you’d have a way to get a message out.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking,” pressed Ard. “Kill her? Or set her free?”

  “Are those my only two options?” he asked.

  “Can you think of another?” Quarrah chimed.

  “Could sell her,” said Jaig. “Parts from that beauty would be worth a blazing fortune.”

  The mere fact that he was suggesting it made Ard think he wasn’t in talks with the King Poacher. It took a daringly confident person to talk openly about things they were trying to hide. Ardor Benn did it all the time, but he didn’t peg Jaig Jasperson for that caliber of liar.

  “Let her go, I guess,” the man finally answered, glancing back at Ard. He knew the answer was less a reflection of how Jaig actually felt, and more indicative of what he thought Ard wanted to hear.

  Jasperson led them across a marshy low spot where a freshwater stream cut its way through the Pale Tors. Halfway up the steep hill ahead, Ard saw the opening to the cave.

  He’d been here before, many years ago. But even if he had remembered it better, the cave’s entrance had been drastically altered to accommodate contraband as large as Motherwatch.

  Once, the natural opening had barely been large enough to fit a standard-size Drift crate, but now it appeared as a massive hole in the hillside, some thirty feet wide by fifteen feet high. Broken rock from the Blast Grit had been piled up around the entrance to form something of a rugged patio, a few scrubby trees hanging above the hole.

  “Tajis!” called Jaig. “We’re coming up!”

  A lone Trothian guard scrambled into action at the sound of his name, hastily strapping on a gun and Grit belt. Not the best reaction from the person who was supposed to be guarding the sole hope of humankind.

  They moved quickly up the grassy incline, Jaig leading them onto the pile of rocks. Now that they were up here, Ard saw that the guard’s post was adorned with a chair, a couple of cushions, several blankets and animal pelts, and even a little canvas awning to give shelter from rain and sun.

  “All quiet up here,” Tajis reported to Jaig. The Trothian’s vibrating eyes looked a little bloodshot, and Ard didn’t miss the half-empty jug of liquor beside the chair.

  “She better be in there,” Quarrah said to Ard. “I mean, really in there, this time.” She moved past Tajis, who glanced nervously at Jasperson. The man assured the guard with a nod and the wave of his hand.

  Ard stepped across the rocky landing to join her, holding his breath as he peered inside. His anticipation didn’t have much time to build, because Motherwatch was there. Right there. He was shocked by how close she lay inside the natural cavern.

  “You’re lucky she fit,” Quarrah pointed out.

  It was a fair observation. Jaig Jasperson’s cave had been bigger in Ard’s memory. It was a mere fraction of Baroness Lavfa’s cavern beneath Helizon.

  Motherwatch’s folded wings rose almost all the way to the cave’s jagged opening. Her tail and long neck were both curled to fit, leaving her head facing the exit. It would be an easy escape if she came out of the Stasis cloud that surrounded around her head. Luckily, the same oversized shackles and chains that had been used for the Illusion in the baroness’s cave were clamped onto all four of the dragon’s legs, her neck, and tail.

  “Tajis,” Jaig scolded. Ard turned to see what was the matter. Jasperson was pointing at a large hourglass standing on a rock under the awning. The top chamber was nearly empty, and Ard knew exactly what that meant—Time for more Stasis Grit. It was a good sign that Jasperson was coming down so strict on his man. They had no way of knowing that Raek had set the hourglass nearly ten minutes shorter than the potency of the Prolonged Stasis Grit. This allowed for a slight margin of error, because Homeland help them all if that Stasis cloud completely burned out.

  Tajis retreated to the covered area, pulling back a sheepskin to reveal a small wooden box. Raek had cut circles in the top to hold the vials of Stasis Grit upright. Tajis selected one and pushed his way between Ard and Quarrah.

  “We do it just like this,” he muttered, leaning into the cave’s spacious opening. Ard glimpsed a rope ladder descending into the dimness, but Tajis didn’t need it to reach the dragon. Taking careful aim, he hurled the vial, striking the mammoth beast somewhere on the nose. Ard heard the glass shatter and saw the sparks as a fresh Stasis cloud surrounded Motherwatch’s horned head.

  How long could they keep her like this? The Moon Passing was fast approaching, but what did it matter? Without Metamorphosis Grit, there would be no cure to her Moonsickness. Motherwatch’s only hope relied on the safe return of Raek and San. Quarrah had said they’d taken two vials.

  Tajis turned away from the cave. But his grin instantly faded as he looked over Ard’s shoulder. Without hesitation, Ard spun, drawing a knife and whirling on Jaig Jasperson. He ducked past the bare-chested man, coming up behind him with the blade pressed to his throat.

  Jasperson made no move to escape, arms limp to both sides without so much as a weapon drawn. “Ashes and soot,” he cursed. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Ard…” Quarrah pointed toward the two opposing hillsides on the other side of the stream they had crossed. He saw the problem at once—six Trothians scattered across the slopes, sheltered behind crags of pale rocks. Each had a Fielder trained on the cave’s opening, ready to fill Ard and Quarrah with lead.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here,” Ard said in Jaig’s ear, “but I need you to call off your men.”

  Jasperson was breathing heavily, his bare shoulder sweaty in Ard’s grip. “Problem, Mister Ardor. Those aren’t my men.”

  “Eyoo-hoo!” called a voice from below.

  Keeping Jaig in tow, Ard stepped forward, peering down the slope. Hedge Marsool stood calf-deep in the creek, the hem of his long cape pulled downstream with the current.

  “What’s he doing here, Jaig?” Ard hissed.

  “I don’t even know who that is!” he replied. At Ard’s side, Quarrah was clutchin
g one of her Grit bags.

  Hedge limped forward, stepping out of the water and starting up the trail toward them.

  “Hedge Marsool, the King Poacher,” Ard whispered. “Does that ring a bell?”

  “Him?” Jasperson cried. “Flames… I haven’t seen him since the accident. You got to let me go, Ardor.” Now that Jaig knew who was coming toward them, he dared to wriggle in Ard’s grasp just a little.

  “Not until I know you have no part in this,” Ard replied. And even if Jaig was being honest, Ard wasn’t sure he wanted to give up his human shield with all those Fielders pointed in their direction.

  “Jaig Jasperson!” Hedge called, taking his time coming up the hill. “Quite the royal setup you’ve got here in the Tors. You’ve come a long ways from sitting on guns and Grit. I hear you’re storing a beastie now.”

  That didn’t sound like a greeting between two men working together…

  “Just trying to make a living,” squeaked Jaig. “Opportunity came along, and I took it. Didn’t know you were involved.”

  “Involved?” cried Hedge. “That sweet sow is rightfully mine. I used these double-crossing whelps to pinch her from Pekal for me. You know what she’s worth, Jasperson.”

  “How’d you know we were here?” Ard asked. “And don’t tell me it was a feeling.”

  “No, not this time.” Hedge finally arrived onto the uneven rock landing. “Somebody came squeaking to me a few days back. Told me that the dragon’s escape from the cave in Helizon had been as fake as a stone-cut Ashing.”

  “Who?” Ard asked. Who even had access to that information?

  Hedge suddenly stooped over, his already deformed body imitating a hunchback. “I think you called him Pincher.” He chuckled. “You shouldn’t trust the street scum.”

  Elbrig Taut.

  Ard let go of Jaig Jasperson as a wave of nausea passed over him. He looked to Quarrah for support, but she was staring across the Pale Tors at the Trothian marksmen.

  Not Elbrig and Cinza… But then, Ard shouldn’t have been surprised. Betrayal begot betrayal. And by the sound of it, the disguise managers had slipped through the Regulators’ grasp. Ard should never have given their names to the queen. He should’ve listened to Quarrah and tried to negotiate another way out of the palace dungeon.

  “That sorry beggar didn’t know where you had taken the dragon,” Hedge continued. “But it wasn’t hard to follow you here.”

  “The note on the Be’Igoth door…” Ard muttered. “It was a lie?”

  “A little ruse for the ruse artist.” Hedge winked his single eye. “My boys and I were hiding outside Tofar’s Salts. You stormed out in a hurry.”

  “How did you get past my security at the edge of the Tors?” Jasperson asked.

  “You mean those pubescent rats hiding in the rocks?” said Hedge. “Everybody’s got a price for the King Poacher, son.” He wiped his spike hand against the leg of his pants. “Pincher sold me information for a wee dozen Ashings. Pirel Gulwar let me use the Puckering Lizard for a keg of Visitant Grit. And the folks at the millinery—”

  “Hold on,” Ard cut him off. “You paid Pirel Gulwar?” That little weasel had said Hedge had threatened him. “In Visitant Grit?”

  Hedge shrugged. “We had no shortage of it when we found the Islehood’s shell. Half a dozen kegs already processed and packed. Ready for a worthy detonation.”

  “Half a dozen kegs…” Ard muttered. “You left it all for the Glassminds?” Maybe that’s what they had absorbed… The detonation Garifus had manipulated on the docks.

  “Sparks, boy. You take me for a charity?”

  “You took it,” Ard accused.

  Hedge grinned. “One for the barkeep. Two for me. The rest for the Glassminds. Pleasure doing business.”

  “Where are the kegs you took?” Ard asked. Hedge wouldn’t have been fool enough to attempt a detonation already.

  “Don’t you fret over that,” said the King Poacher. “I’ve got them squirreled away for a rainy day.”

  Hedge looked past Ard and Quarrah, calling out to Tajis in Trothian. The guard nodded vigorously, terrified. Hedge said something else and Tajis replied. Then Hedge waved his hand and the Trothian man took off running down the hillside.

  “Tajis!” barked Jasperson.

  “He works for me now.” Hedge limped over to Jaig. “And so will everyone else in the Pale Tors by the time our conversation is over.”

  Jasperson held up his hands. “Listen, I can sell you the dragon for—”

  Hedge brought up his spike arm, skewering Jaig Jasperson through the stomach. The shirtless man opened his mouth, producing a squelching sound not unlike a boot in the mud.

  Ard thrust for Hedge’s exposed back, but the King Poacher turned sharply. He brought his spike around in a defensive swipe, spraying Ard with a line of Jasperson’s blood as he turned aside the incoming knife. In the same fluid movement, he brought up his good hand, a Roller aiming at Ard’s forehead.

  “Not a twitch from you, dearie,” Hedge snapped at Quarrah. She had retreated right up against the cave’s mouth, arm raised, clutching her Grit bag. “Why would I settle on a price with Jasperson when the dragon is rightfully mine?”

  “It’s two against one, Hedge,” Ard pointed out.

  “I have half a dozen marksmen with a clear line of sight on you from any angle,” the King Poacher countered.

  “And their shots are useless the minute Quarrah throws that Barrier Grit around us,” reasoned Ard. He actually had no idea if that was what her little bag contained, but he needed to keep Hedge talking.

  “Two of my men have crossbows,” said Hedge, “bolts tipped with Null Grit for just such an occurrence.”

  Sparks. Did Hedge know about every type of liquid Grit? But the poacher’s comment turned a gear in Ard’s head. It caught the cogs of another idea, and soon a genuine plan was taking shape. It would be exceedingly dangerous… reckless beyond belief. But those were exactly the kinds of ideas that made him Ardor Benn.

  “You’re probably wondering how I did it,” Ard said. “How I made it look like there was a dragon in the baroness’s cave when there never was.”

  “Illusion Grit,” spit Hedge. “Pincher spelled out your tricks.”

  “And you think I’d tell all my secrets to a vagrant I hired off the streets?” said Ard, mind racing. “How could I use Illusion Grit if the dragon was never there?”

  This got a reaction; Ard could see it in Hedge’s lone eye.

  “See, it’s not about having a dragon,” Ard continued. “It never was. It’s about making people think you have a dragon.”

  “What the blazes are you talking about?” muttered Hedge. With his gun still trained on Ard, he took a few shuffling steps toward the cave opening. “I can see her down there.”

  From where he was standing, Ard could see her, too, frozen in Stasis, her giant nostrils stuck mid-flare, as if she’d been drawing a mighty breath when the cloud had overwhelmed her.

  “Just like you saw her in Helizon?” Ard pressed.

  “Just another trick, then?” Hedge grunted.

  “The world has been changing with the discovery of those eight types of liquid Grit,” said Ard. “And I think you—”

  “Eight types?” Hedge cut him off. Ard held back a smile. He knew the King Poacher would be sharp enough to catch that. Playing right into Ard’s hands.

  “Of course,” lied Ard. “Did you not catch wind of the latest type?”

  “What’s it called?” Hedge questioned.

  “Portal Grit,” explained Ard. “Discovered by San Green and Lomaya Vans, pupils of the late Portsend Wal.” He was borrowing a tactic straight from Hedge himself. If the King Poacher had been able to string them along with pretend Future Grit for weeks, Ard could return the favor, if only for a few moments.

  “Yes,” Hedge said reluctantly. “I’m familiar with Portal Grit.”

  Slowly, his body language asking silent permission, Ard reached into his pocket and wit
hdrew a glass vial. “Then you’ll know that that dragon is actually in a cave on Pekal at the moment,” continued Ard, “with two corresponding clouds of Portal Grit connecting both locations.”

  “Portal Grit…” Hedge muttered again.

  “Of course, sufficiently Compounded like this one”—he held aloft the vial in his hand—“the Portal can actually stabilize the connection to make a permanent bridge between locations. Imagine the smuggling possibilities with a doorway onto Pekal’s mountainside.”

  Hedge scoffed. “My Mixers have Compounded it at numerous levels. They have told me of all the benefits.”

  “Did they seal the cork with wax?” Ard asked. It was something he had heard Raek and San blathering on about. “Like this…” Gently, he tossed the vial in an underhand arc toward Hedge Marsool. Easy to catch, even for a person with only one hand.

  Hedge took the bait. It was that, or let an unidentified vial of Grit shatter at his feet. He flipped the Roller under his arm and snatched the glass projectile just as Ard barreled into him, avoiding the spike of his missing hand by mere inches.

  They grappled, but Ard knew his opponent’s weak side, and he pushed against Hedge’s bad leg. The King Poacher lost his footing, his ankle turning on a loose rock as he toppled through the cave’s mouth to the dragon below. Ard wrenched himself away, teetering. In the darkness, he saw a little sizzle of sparks as Hedge’s body struck the stone in front of Motherwatch’s resting face.

  That would be the Null Grit he’d just tossed to the King Poacher.

  A flash cloud erupted from the broken vial, instantly snuffing out the Stasis surrounding the dragon’s head. Hedge’s prone body lurched in fear as Motherwatch’s huge eyes flicked open. She completed the breath she had started on Pekal more than half a cycle ago. Then she exhaled in a terrifying snort and Ard felt a blast of hot wind ride up the side of the cave to tousle his hair.

  As promised, shots sounded from Hedge’s marksmen across the way. But Quarrah had been faster, sealing them under Barrier Grit the moment Ard had made his move. Sparks, they were a good team, even if she never wanted to admit it. Still, if the shooters had crossbows with Null Grit, Ard and Quarrah would be safe under this shield for only a moment.