by Aaron Pogue
If not for the thought of Caleb, Daven might have acted rashly and so destroyed his ruse. But Caleb grounded Daven, even in his thoughts. Daven let his shame show on his face—shame at being caught so unprepared—and spread his empty hands. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m alone and lost and hungry. I seek refuge in—“
“You don’t look hungry,” the soldier interrupted. “You don’t look lost, either. You’re heading straight toward Cammin, and it is my responsibility to send you on your way.”
“Alone? You’d really see me off alone in times like these?”
“I would because of times like these. You’ll have my apologies, but not a shred of mercy. Four leagues north you might find a place called Auvillan. They are not so cautious. If anyone is left alive there, perhaps you’ll find some rest.”
Auvillan. The town he had just left. Daven shook his head and trembled with pretended fear. “Four leagues, milord? I can’t make that by nightfall. Just let me stay the night. I’ll—“
“You’ll go along to Auvillan or you will die among these hills. My only task is to ensure you do not enter Cammin. You have my word that I will not fail in this.”
Daven groaned. He had seen enough of violence and frightened villagers, so he had no wish to tip his hand again. But if he couldn’t pass this soldier, he would have to find some way through him. Daven licked his lips and dropped his eyes. “I...I have gold.”
“You do not have enough.”
“Don’t judge so quickly. I was a wealthy man back west. From an even wealthier family.”
The soldier sneered. “Do you know what I have? A mother and a sister and a wife. I have one son of fourteen years just learning how to handle a sword. All of them in Cammin. Do you really believe you have gold enough to buy away their safety from me? If so, you are a fool.”
“So be it,” Daven said, abandoning his meek demeanor and advancing on the scout. He paid no heed to the raised weapon, only held the older man’s eyes. “If you stop me on this road, you are the fool. If you love the ones you’ve named, you’ll let me pass. For I am their and your best hope for safety.”
“You?” the guard asked coldly. “You who are hungry and lost and lone?”
“I who am a sorcerer and a warrior and mankind’s defender against the dragonswarm. I who have slain more than a thousand of the monsters and learned their secret ways. I heard about a darkness in the east and came to help your people—“
The soldier was not easily convinced. He narrowed his eyes and barked, “Then why did you come with lies? It is far easier to doubt these new claims.”
Daven took a long step back, opening some distance between them. Then he spread his hands and summoned again a chaos blade for his right hand, a fistful of of flame for his left, and a cloak of wind to dance around him.
He raised one eyebrow. “Are you still unconvinced?”
In answer, the soldier fired his crossbow. So very much like Caleb. And Daven did as he had done more than a year ago, when he first met his general not twenty leagues from here upon those shadowed slopes. He flicked his will toward the crossbow bolt and unleashed the dormant water in the crafted wood. Midair, the shaft tore into splinters and the arrowhead tumbled harmless to the earth.
Before the soldier could reload his weapon, Daven plucked it from his hands on a vicious gust of wind, then tossed it half a dozen paces from the road.
“I have come to help you,” he said for the hundredth time today. “I will go into Cammin and find someone who will talk to me, and I will find a way to save this town from the dragons. You have my word I will not fail in this.”
The soldier flinched at those words.
Daven sighed. “You also have a choice. Will you come with me and vouch for me and save your townsfolk from a panic? Or will I have to subdue them all as I’ve done to you?”
The soldier shifted, surreptitiously reaching for a dagger in his boot, but Daven shook his head.
“That will never reach me. Now consider. I am going into town. Which way will cause less grief to your dear mother? To your sister and your wife and the strong little lad?”
When even that did not convince the soldier, Daven sighed. “Very well! Which way will let you keep a closer eye on me?”
“I will gladly act as your escort, wizard, but I will not vouch for you.”
Daven snarled. “Then I will hang you in the sky for all to see my power, and that will work just as well! Wind and rain, you didn’t have to be so much like Caleb.”
“Like who?”
“Like no one. Now move. The daylight’s fading.”
At the town’s edge, two more sentries came out to greet them. These had hunting bows instead of crossbows, but both men looked quite prepared to kill. Daven’s escort stopped short as the new guards stepped out of the shadows. Daven threw a hopeful glance at his unwilling escort, but the man made no move to reassure the sentries. Daven sighed and stopped, too.
One of the sentries raised his voice. “Who is this you bring us, Ricarl?”
“A stranger,” Ricarl called back. “I met him on the road.”
“We want no strangers, Ricarl.”
“Then kill him where he stands. He’s dangerous. I’ve seen it.”
Daven had no time to answer. Two bows came up, and two arrows flew. Daven growled and flung two fists of flame to pluck the arrows from the air. He turned on Ricarl and crushed him to the ground with a gust of wind. Then hands of earth reached up to close around the older man’s throat, pinning him down.
The Dragonprince spun back to the village guards, but he found one already fled. The other stood his ground, trying to fit another arrow to his string, but his hands shook too much. Daven cinched the man in ropes of air, just as he had done at Auvillan, then he turned back to Ricarl with a weary sigh.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Daven asked. “You set your town to panic. That will serve no one. And because I do not have the will to harm them, I’ll have no choice but to leave. I could have helped you.”
The strangled sentry croaked. “You...don’t understand. They would...not have listened to me. They had to see.”
“Well, now they’ve seen, and one has fled into town. He’ll raise an alarm—“
Ricarl shook his head. “No. He’ll go...to Mayor Bannus. That...is who you need to see. Now he...will come to us.”
Eyes narrowed, Daven stared down at the soldier. At last Daven shook his head. “You betrayed me once. Can I trust you with this mayor?”
“You have me...by the throat. What could I do...against you?”
“You could make me look a monster.” Daven waved and the hands of stone melted into earth. While Ricarl caught a gasping breath, Daven unleashed the sentry still hanging in the air.
“What is this?” Ricarl asked. “Trust? Or some ruse?”
“It’s mercy,” Daven said, extending a hand. “Times are bitter everywhere, but if you betray me one more time, I will leave Cammin to the darkness.”
A new voice cried out, this one rich with stern authority. “Is that within your power, wizard? Do you bring light enough to touch this darkness?”
Daven turned to face the mayor and offered him a shallow bow. “I bring fire enough to scour it away.”
“I’ve heard stories of your fire,” the mayor said. “And air and earth and all your other tricks. You came to my town and fell upon my guards—“
Ricarl scrambled up. “No, my lord. We challenged him and forced his hand. This man is dangerous as wildfire, but I believe he’s come to help us.”
The mayor grunted. “You have a too-trusting heart.”
“Your men have seen some measure of my power,” Daven said. “But there is more. I am a dragon slayer, Honorable Bannus, and I came to the eastern plains because I heard rumors of your troubles.”
“Everyone has troubles. The world is dying.”
“No! There are strongholds that have proved secure. The capital and Tirah and old Palmagnes.”
“The Tower
of Days,” Bannus whispered, reverent. “I have heard some rumors, too.”
“Then you know there is a champion, a leader of sorts—“
“A warlord, rather. A rebel prince, and there are those who say he serves the dragons.”
“No one serves the dragons!” Daven snapped. “Though some serve Chaos. Some speed the fall of human power. I have seen it firsthand. But the Tower stands against such forces.”
“The Dragonprince, you mean?” The mayor chuckled darkly. “As I said, I have heard rumors. Those who believe good of him have called him a dragon slayer. A sorcerer and a warrior. A hero, riding to the aid of those in need.”
“Well...some rumors bear a shade of truth.”
“Sincerely, then? The Dragonprince has come to Cammin? We’re hardly fit to celebrate a royal visit.”
Daven showed him a tight-lipped smile. “I have never called myself a nobleman. Call me Daven, and find me dinner and a bed. That is all the celebration I require.”
Mayor Bannus considered Daven for a long moment. “These can be arranged. Will you allow me a moment with my men?”
Daven shrugged. “Take what you need.” But as Bannus and the sentries drew aside, Daven caught at threads of air and wrapped it in invisible layers around him—threads that he could use to shield himself or strike, to catch a foe or flee into the sky.
Had he ever shown such care around a handful of strangers? Had he ever needed to? Whatever else was happening here, Daven had already the confirmation he needed—something deep and wicked lay across the eastern plains.
He bided patiently. Before he could help these towns, before he could dispel this strange darkness, he needed information. Auvillan had thwarted him, and he had spent too much time already here to find another town before the sun set and the raids began.
A yawn cracked his jaw. Sleep, too. Even with Pazyarev’s power to draw on, exploits like today’s drained him. He turned his attention to the distant dragon and set Pazyarev in a high, slow patrol above the city. With the cover of both clouds and coming darkness, the townsfolk wouldn’t see their protector, but any dragon short of another Elder Legend would avoid such a fight.
Daven yawned again, returning to himself, and found the mayor not two paces distant, one of his sentries gone. Daven blinked. “Where is your other guard?”
“It is late. Young Donn has gone home to his family.”
“And yet you’ve kept Ricarl. You do not trust me yet.”
“Not...entirely. But we see no reward in fighting you. If half their claims are true, I don’t have men enough to stop you anyway.”
“You don’t need them. I’m here to help.”
“Baron Brandt once said the same. So did the wizard Lareth. But they only ever helped themselves and left our folks to starve.”
Daven held his eyes. “I am different. There has never been another like me.”
The mayor raised his chin. “Is it true that you’ve rebuilt the FirstKing’s tower?”
“It is. I needed some place safe to start the fight, and far from crowded cities—“
“Then perhaps there has been one other like you.”
It took half a heartbeat before Daven caught the mayor’s meaning. Then he felt a blush burning high in his cheeks. He shook his head. “I cannot pretend to be the FirstKing’s heir—in name or in spirit. But perhaps I am his loyal soldier, fighting to preserve his legacy.”
The mayor grinned at that. “Well said. Well said. But I’ve left you standing here too long. You made your demands: a meal to eat and a place to sleep. Ricarl here will show you to your room.”
“Indeed? Ricarl? I thought you meant to keep me from your family!”
The mayor answered for him. “Oh! You are not staying under his roof. You’ll be staying under mine. But I have urgent business, and you have need of rest. Let Ricarl see you settled in, and I will visit you when I am free.”
“And then you’ll share some rumors?” Daven asked. “I need information more than room and board.”
“I’ll tell you everything I know, though I fear it isn’t much.”
“At this point, I will be glad of anything.”
“Then go along. Be easy on Ricarl. And I will see you soon.”
Daven watched the mayor go, then he turned toward his escort. “I do apologize for any harm I’ve done you. Times are desperate, and folks are scared.”
The soldier’s only answer was a grunt, a jerk of his head, then he set off into the town.
Shadows stretched long in the empty streets, and a lonesome wind whistled. Their footsteps were the only other sounds. Ricarl led him past the stables, past the run-down tavern, past the market square, and at last to a building tall and sprawling beneath a grand bell tower. Daven nearly took it for a church—if a plain and somber one—until he saw the edicts posted by the door, the royal colors hanging over the porch. Not a place of god, but a place a government. A town hall.
Daven frowned. “The mayor lives in here?”
Ricarl didn’t turn his way. “There are some rooms.” He drew forth a heavy ring of keys and spent four tries before he opened the front door. Its creak rang out strangely loud within the night, and the anteroom beyond was vast and dark. “Ricarl—“ Daven said, but his escort went ahead as though he hadn’t heard. Daven sighed and followed.
The only light in the wide, low building came from outer windows. Even in the antechamber the moonlight and pale stars did little to illuminate the way, but as Daven and his escort passed into inner corridors, the light gave way entirely. Ricarl never slowed, his footsteps thump, thump, thump on the wooden floor, and for ten paces Daven tried to follow placid as a lamb. Then he struck his shin upon a low sidetable, barked a curse he’d learned from Caleb, and cast a spell he’d learned from Lareth. Blue-red fire flared in dozens of tiny candle flames to fill the length of the hall, though there were no sconces or wicks to sustain it. Ricarl shrank away from the nearest flame, eyes wide, and Daven took some pity on him. Caleb had no love for Lareth’s magic, either. It was the soldier’s lot.
“I’ll put them out,” Daven said, soothing. “But I would prefer to keep just one. My feet do not know these halls as well as yours.”
Again the soldier grunted in answer, and Daven took it for a yes. He caught one of the meager flames and set it on his shoulder, then let the others burn away. The gloom came slinking back, but Daven’s eerie candle was enough to save his shins.
And that brief exchange had been enough to show Daven what was going on. Why would a soldier know the inner corridors of a town hall? There are some rooms, he’d said. Cells, more likely. A town this size might not have a proper jail, but there’d be locking rooms somewhere for dangerous men. Ricarl was arresting him, at Mayor Bannus’s order.
Ricarl never said a word. He made no apology. He had to know how easily Daven could destroy him, but the soldier had a job to do. He escorted Daven through the dark halls, and Daven found himself with little choice but to follow.
After all, the man Daven needed was Bannus, and Bannus had promised to come speak with him here. Daven could have resisted, could have demanded some fancy rooms and a lavish meal, but the best this town had to offer wouldn’t have been much better than a prison cell. Not on such short notice, anyway. Not in times like these.
So Daven shrugged and resigned himself, following meekly behind the old soldier while the bulk of his attention drifted away, until he found himself staring down on Cammin from high above. He looked through Pazyarev’s strange, sharp eyes, and turned the monster’s gaze away from the town, searching the surrounding countryside for miles. Red-gold dusk fled before the shadows of true night, but still Daven saw no dragons on the wing.
None. Across the wide plains and in the rugged mountains, this far from Daven’s bastion, there should have been a dragon. There should have been half a dozen, perhaps even a brooded wing of them, flying out on raids. But he saw none.
What was happening here?
Down below the soldier came
to a stop, and Daven’s attention snapped back to the dark corridors. Ricarl stood at attention outside an iron-barred prison cell. Now at last his stolid expression cracked. Sweat beaded in fat drops on his forehead, and his knuckles were white from the grip he had on his sword.
The man was prepared to die in the execution of his duty. He fully expected the stranger to kill him.
Daven sighed. “What is happening here?”
“The mayor,” Ricarl said, his voice a dry rasp. “He’ll answer your questions. I’ll have him here by dawn.”
“He said it would be sooner.”
Ricarl looked away and swallowed hard. “I do not think he’ll hurry, but I will try—“
“You don’t have to be so afraid.”
The soldier gave no answer, but the cell’s keys jangled in his shaking hand. Daven took pity on the man and went on into the cell. He slammed the heavy door shut behind himself then sank down on the floor, elbows on his knees.
“Lock me in, jailer, and get yourself some rest. I will still be here tomorrow. You have my word.”
Ricarl looked entirely unrelieved, but he managed to turn the trembling key in the door’s lock. For a moment more he stood there in the gloom, face pale, just staring in at his prisoner. Daven almost hoped the man was ready to talk, to answer questions, but then Ricarl tore his gaze away and disappeared in darkness. He was a good soldier, after all.
Daven leaned his head back against the stone wall, and a pained smile tugged at his lips. How many times had he been thrown in cells like this one? Wind and rain, his royal suite in the Tower wasn’t much more comfortable. He lived his life surrounded by sturdy stone and unforgiving steel.
He’d made his promise in good faith, but his word was all that kept him here. He could have torn a path through the stone like spiderwebs or melted his cage’s bars into a puddle. Instead he settled himself against the wall, closed his eyes, and turned his thoughts toward the town’s defense.
