Evren tightened his grip on Swain’s collar and kept dragging the unconscious boy the last few paces to the door. The fabric of Swain’s shirt ripped, and Evren fell backward, a shred of torn cloth in his hand. He quickly recovered and reached for Swain again. His hands had just closed around Swain’s shirt when a roof beam collapsed right in front of him.
Swain gave a weak “uggh” as the heavy wooden support slammed into his chest, crushing his ribs and midsection. Blood spattered Evren’s face, and Swain’s eyes flew wide. His lips moved but no sound came out. With a weak gasp, Swain’s eyes rolled back and his head sagged to one side.
Evren felt that same cold chill seeping into his body as he stared at the dead Claw. For a moment, the heat of the burning roof beam was forgotten in the horror of watching Swain die right in front of him.
“Evren!” The back door muffled Daver’s voice. “Evren, I think I’ve cleared enough for you to get out.”
The words snapped Evren from his trance. He turned to go, when glinting metal caught his eye. Around Swain’s neck hung the Lectern’s pendant he’d taken from Evren two days earlier.
Swain’s words from earlier popped into Evren’s head. “The Lecterns aren’t the sort to let their apprentices run away. They won’t stop hunting until they find you. Or your bodies.”
Swain had been right. The Lecterns would only give up the hunt if they believed Daver and Evren were dead.
Swain was the same size as Evren, and he wore Evren’s crescent moon pendant. Once the fire had burned away his features, no one would be able to tell Swain’s corpse apart from his.
He whirled toward the back door. “Daver!” He threw his shoulder against the wood with every ounce of strength. The door scraped against crumbled bricks and piled debris but slid open enough for him to see the smaller apprentice outside. “Daver, give me your pendant, now!”
“Why?”
“Just do it!” Evren insisted.
Firelight gleamed on the crescent moon pendant Daver held out. Evren snatched it up, turned, and dropped the necklace into Swain’s outstretched hand. The platinum would survive the fire. If the Mistress’ luck smiled on him, the Wardens and Lecterns would believe Evren had died trying to escape the fire. The two pendants would tie the two corpses to the missing apprentices. It was the best he could hope for.
He turned and ran, and with two running steps crashed into the back door. The hinges groaned and the wood bent, but the door swung wide enough for him to squeeze through. He tripped over the debris piled high and landed face-first in a pile of muck.
“Let’s go!” He scrambled to his feet and clambered onto the piles of crumbled brick and human detritus. “We’ve got to get far away from here before the Wardens come to investigate the fire.”
He slogged through the ankle-deep muck—a foul mixture of stagnant rainwater, urine, and the Keeper knew what else. The stink assaulted his nostrils, but the smoke of the burning building grew thicker with every passing second.
Evren tensed in expectation of a fight as he approached the mouth of the alleyway. Hakim had said he had people watching the alleyway. His heart sank as he caught sight of the young boy standing against the wall at the far end of the narrow lane. He clung to the shadows, grateful for the crackling of the fire to conceal the sound of his movements through the debris. The lookout’s attention was so fixated on the pillar of fire consuming the house that he failed to notice Evren slipping through the darkness. Evren dropped the night-blind boy with a single punch to the jaw.
He cast a glance toward the main avenue in time to see mirror-armored Wardens running toward the blaze, white cloaks streaming behind them. Seizing Daver’s hand, he raced deeper into the back alleys and away from the temple.
Toward freedom.
Epilogue
Evren pulled his stolen hat lower and bent forward to hide his face. He glanced back at Daver, who stumbled alongside him. The smaller boy looked exhausted—a night spent running and hiding among the back-alleys around the Court of Judgement hadn’t done his battered body much good—but he tried his best to keep pace. Evren knew the rough-spun clothing they’d stolen would rub the wounds on Daver’s back raw, yet Daver hadn’t voiced complaint. They both knew the importance of finding a way to safety.
Evren had only one place he could consider safe right now.
His legs wobbled as he teetered the last few steps toward the Summer Market and Kaltris’ still-closed stall, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips.
Jodech glanced up at his approach, and the man’s dark eyes went wide. “Keeper’s beard, lad, what happened to you?” Concern furrowing his sun-darkened forehead.
“Someone thought we had something worth stealing,” Evren replied as he helped Daver to a seat against a nearby wall. His answer wasn’t a complete lie—the white-gold statuette in his pocket would make any mugger’s day.
“Bright Lady have mercy!” Cheeril shook her head, which set her red braids flying. “And to think I came to this city to get away from all the crime in Praamis. It’s like the Night Guild all over again!”
“You talking about last night’s fire?” Jodech asked.
Evren’s ears perked up. Gossip traveled fast in marketplaces. The information would be distorted in the retelling, but it might contain a few scraps of truth.
“Aye,” Cheeril said with a nod. “Neighbor of mine was near the Court of Judgement when it happened. Saw the whole thing, he did. Said a gang of street toughs set fire to a buildin’.” She leaned closer to Jodech and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Killed two apprentice Lecterns, I hear. The Master’s priests are spittin’ hellfire and ready to send every Warden in the city into the district to root out the criminals.”
“Two apprentices, eh?” Jodech toyed with his long, dark braid. “Might be the two who ran away from the temple, then?”
Cheeril shrugged. “I don’t know nothin’ about that. All’s I know’s what my neighbor told me.”
Evren’s heart leapt as he listened to the two continue their gossip. If the Wardens believed the corpses belonged to him and Daver, they had a chance at starting a brand new life.
Hope surged within him as he spotted a familiar mule-drawn wagon rumbling up the road toward the market.
Kaltris’ face brightened at the sight of Evren and Daver. “Good to see you, lads!” he called out as he drew his wagon to a halt behind his stall. “Had you on my mind the whole way to Brittlewall and back.”
The old merchant clambered down from his wagon with a groan and a loud clicking of his joints. When he finally dismounted, he turned to Evren. “You give my offer any thought?”
“I have,” Evren said. “And I’ve got another offer for you.”
“That so?” One white eyebrow climbed toward Kaltris’ bald scalp. “What’s that?”
“You take my brother.” Evren motioned to Daver, who had leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
“I already told you I can only take one of you. You’re the one—"
“He’s the one who needs to be taken care of,” Evren insisted. “I can look after myself, but Daver, he’s…” He swallowed. “He’s not cut out for a life on the streets.”
“I need a strong lad.” Kaltris held up his hands. “I can do the sums well enough, but what I can’t do is load and unload my wagon.”
“Then, I’ll do it for you.” Evren wouldn’t give up. “You don’t even have to pay me. I’ll come and do your heavy lifting until Daver’s strong enough to do it.”
Kaltris’ eyes narrowed, and his expression grew pensive.
“Please,” Evren begged. “I need him to be safe. You’re his only hope of a better life, a life away from the streets. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
After a moment, Kaltris nodded. “I’ll take him in, lad. And don’t worry about doing my heavy lifting. There are plenty of young men I can hire until Daver’s able to take over.”
Relief flooded Evren, and he felt as if a massive burden had be
en lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, Kaltris,” he said, his throat thick. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” Kaltris gave a dismissive wave. Though his tone was gruff, a hint of moisture sparkled in his eyes. “It’ll be good having someone around to help out. But you better come around and visit, you hear? Might be I can spare the occasional bit of produce now and again.”
Evren nodded. “I will.”
“What are you going to do?” Kaltris asked in a quiet voice.
Evren drew in a deep breath. “I…don’t know.” His eyes strayed toward the Master’s Temple rising in the distance. It was a beautiful white marble structure that stood twice the height of the city wall, with a blue glass dome for a crown and seven minarets standing guard around it. Even now, the voices of the Lecterns atop the towers rang out across Vothmot as they called out the morning prayer. “For years, I’ve had people telling me what to do, what my future’ll hold. But now there’s none of that. In a way, that feels…”
Kaltris smiled. “Liberating?”
“Sure.” Evren nodded. “It’s a good thing, knowing I can choose to do whatever I want with my life.”
“Make good choices, lad.” Kaltris placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder. “Your future might not always be clear, but if you focus on doing right in the present, things have a way of sorting themselves out.” He gave Evren a wry smile. “Who knows, one day we might read about the great hero Evren in the history books.”
Evren snorted. “Not likely! You don’t even know how to read.”
“Fair enough.” Kaltris grinned. “Apprentice be with you, lad.”
“And you, Master Kaltris.”
A lump rose in Evren’s throat as he turned to Daver. Tears glimmered in the smaller boy’s eyes. “Are you really leaving me, Evren?”
“It’s for the best, Daver.” Evren wrestled against tears of his own. “Kaltris will give you a home, a trade, a future.”
“But without you!” Daver clutched at Evren’s arms, his gaze sorrowful.
Evren gripped the boy’s hand. “No, I’ll be around. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you, make sure you stay out of trouble.” He swallowed hard. “Besides, if you’re going to be running a business, we can’t have all the gangs in Vothmot swiping your fruit. I’ll keep them in line, I promise.”
Daver wiped his eyes. “Promise you’ll visit every day.”
“I swear it.” Evren placed a hand over his heart. “On all the gods of Einan. If I break this oath, may my soul suffer in the darkest hells for all eternity.” He ruffled the smaller boy’s hair. “Good enough?”
Daver nodded and scrubbed away the last of his tears. “Yes.”
Evren stood, and a smile broke out on his lips. “See you tomorrow, Daver?”
“I’ll be here.”
Evren turned and, with a farewell wave to Kaltris, Jodech, and Cheeril, strode up the street toward the Prime Bazaar.
For the first time in his life, he had nothing he had to do, no duties, chores, or lessons to dread. He was his own man, able to make his own choices. If he wanted, he could join up with the Pincers, take control of the Claws, or run on his own. Hell, he could do whatever he wanted.
His smile widened as he pushed through the press of people flooding Vothmot’s crowded marketplace. He was free of his past, and the future was his to choose. He couldn’t wait to find out what sort of adventures lay ahead.
About the Author
Andy Peloquin is the author of the Hero of Darkness and Queen of Thieves fantasy series.
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You can find out more about Andy Peloquin at http://andypeloquin.com
DRAGON BORN
A Novella from The Three Nations
By
AARON HODGES
1
Enala ducked as a low-hanging branch flashed toward her face. Her boots slipped on the muddy ground, sending her tumbling forwards. Arms wind-milling, she scrambled for purchase, and her fingers found the thin trunk of a nearby sapling. Straightening, she continued her onwards flight. Water ran in rivulets between the tree roots, the last of the night’s rain making its way to the nearby river.
The dense undergrowth slashed at her arms and legs as she raced through the forest, tearing at her skin. She ran on, heart racing, lungs burning, blood pounding in her skull. Squinting through the fading light, she searched the shadows, seeking out danger. Her foe was behind her – she was sure of it – but there was no shortage of danger amongst these trees.
Gasping for breath, Enala burst from the trees into open space. She cursed as the brilliant red of the setting sun blinded her momentarily. Swinging around, she squinted through the head-high grass, searching for movement. A gentle breeze blew in waves across the clearing, bending the grass before it, making it impossible to tell what lurked within.
She glanced back as the crash of breaking branches came from behind her. There was no sign of the hunter, but knowing he was close, she reached down and drew her short sword. Swallowing her fear, she darted into the grassland.
The hackles rose on her neck as the grass swallowed her, cutting off her view of the forest. At only five-foot-four, the grass stretched an extra inch above her head, and she had to throw her body at the long strands to make any headway. Finally, she gave in to her frustration, and began hacking at the grass with her blade.
“Enala!” a man’s voice carried across the field, “It’s over, turn and face me!”
The sound of pounding boots chased after her, and she redoubled her efforts. Glancing back, she realised she’d made a terrible mistake entering the field. The flattened grass behind her left a clear, easy path for her pursuer to follow, while she was forced to cut her own. She cursed her rashness for giving in to her momentary panic. She should have gone around, tried to circle the field, even if it had taken longer. A grunt came from close by as the man drew nearer.
As suddenly as it had appeared, the grass vanished. Enala cried out as she crashed through the last strands and found herself on the bank of the Onyx river. Mud slipped beneath her boots as she grasped at a nearby tree, halting her flight before she plunged head-first into the racing waters. Gasping for breath, she glanced back, but there was still no sign of her pursuer.
Focusing her attention on the river, Enala cursed under her breath. Last night’s rain had swollen the river to bursting, and now the murky water rushed by just a few feet below her. It was far too high to cross safely. Her father had talked about how to cross during a flood, but she had never paid much attention. She resolved to ask him again – if she got the chance.
Sword still gripped in one hand, she turned to make her way along the riverbank until she found a narrower spot to cross. Before she could take two steps, a dark figure exploded from the field of grass and into her path. He stumbled for a second, as she had. For a moment, Enala could have stepped forward and pushed him into the raging waters. But she hesitated and, before she could act, he straightened and swung towards her. Steel hissed as his blade left its scabbard.
“Enala,” he said, and started towards her.
Enala dropped into a crouch, twisting her body side-on and extending the sword. Baring her teeth, she watched him come, studying his movements. He had an extra foot of height on her, but his black hair was streaked with grey. Lines spread from his eyes, betraying his age. He still moved with the confidence of a young man, but Enala doubted it would last. If she could draw out the fight, her stamina would quickly outlast his.
Leaping forward, Enala aimed a low cut at the man’s stomach. Her opponent swore, staggering sideways to narrowly avoid the blow, the mud making it hard for him to manoeuvre. Enala closed on him, sword slashing for his kneecaps. Steel rang as the man’s blade swept down to meet hers. The shock of the impact vibrated up Enala’s arm, but she gritted her teeth and pressed her attack.
Yet now her foe had recovered his balance. Before she could strike, he reversed his sword, the tip flashing for he
r face. Swaying to the left, Enala felt the wind from the thrust on her cheek. A tremor ran through her as she leapt back, placing a few feet between them.
Dropping to a crouch, she panted softly, eyes narrowed as she watched for an opening. Her foe kept his feet well placed now, steadying his balance on the uneven ground. He stared back at her, face set, blade held at the ready. His emerald eyes never left her for a moment. The roar of the river as it cascaded over its murky bed whispered through the trees, while nearby the wind rustled in the long grass.
Enala released a breath and returned to the attack. This time her foe was ready for her. He retreated with measured steps as she swung her blade, his sword leaping to meet her every blow. Sparks flashed as they danced through the scattered trees of the riverbank, as to the west the red sun sank below the horizon. The distant screech of parrots echoed through the forest, though none came near the two battling fighters.
Sweat dripped down Enala’s back as the man riposted, the blow narrowly missing her chest. Even in the dying light, the heat in the valley was stifling, the moist air difficult to breathe. If she’d known he would catch her, she would have faced him yesterday, when they’d been near the coast. There, the ocean breeze blew across the clifftops, providing welcome relief to the muggy temperatures near the Onyx River.
Fortunately, the heat was taking its toll on her opponent too. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his face had gone a few shades paler as their battle progressed. With every attack, his movements were slowing, until Enala found she could avoid his blows with ease. Grinning, she sent a silent thanks to the Goddess for her youth.
Gathering herself, Enala gripped her short sword in two hands and leapt forward, eager to end the fight. The movement seemed to take the man by surprise, and, cursing, he staggered back. His sword darted out weakly, narrowly deflecting Enala’s blow, but hauling on her sword, she swung it around. Her blade darted out, quick as lightning, and almost caught him this time. It only missed his chest by a hair’s breadth. She almost laughed as the man tripped and dropped to one knee. Raising her sword, she moved in for the kill.
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