“It’s about time,” Shayla said. “We’ve been cooped up in this train for weeks.”
“River doesn’t care about that,” Kale said, turning to face them. “Her inventions are all she cares about.”
That statement wasn’t entirely fair, but River fought the urge to defend herself. She knew it would just draw her into an argument. She glanced up into his smoldering blue eyes and bit her lip. Kale was her oldest and dearest friend, and he knew her better than anyone else. He was convinced that they were destined to be together. River’s recent seclusion in the Engineering car was probably the reason for his snarky tone.
“What’s that?” shouted Loren, one of the train’s Tal’mar warriors. River glanced at him. Loren was old, approximately one hundred and fifty years, give or take a few. Other than his silver hair and a few minor age lines that marred his elfin features, he looked more like he was in his twenties. River followed his gaze to a shining speck about a mile up the tracks.
“It looks like metal,” Thane observed. “I hope the tracks aren’t damaged again.”
As if in answer to his comment, Socrates tightened the brakes and the train lurched again, sending them all grasping for a handhold. The wheels screeched as the train slowed to a crawl. Strangely, the Iron Horse did not come to a full stop. Instead, Socrates allowed the train to idle along the tracks at the pace of a brisk walk.
The clouds closed in overhead, darkening the landscape around them. Slowly, the shining object morphed into the shape of a man on horseback. As they drew closer, River realized that the horseman was in fact a knight dressed from head to toe in shining armor. In his right hand he carried a long lance; in his left, a shield emblazoned with a yellow dragon on a field of black and gray clouds. And his horse… it was not an actual horse, she realized but a machine!
The steed’s framework was made of steel, polished to a mirror-like shine and decorated with panels of intricately embossed sheet metal, decorated and shaped into the smooth equine flanks and chest of a horse. Here and there, River caught glimpses of gears and springs beneath the framework, and over the ringing clip-clop of its steel hooves on the stone ground, she heard the mechanisms working inside the creature.
“Ho there!” called out Vann, the train’s cook and bartender. The knight lifted his visor with the tip of his shield. Judging from what River could see of his face, the man appeared to be in his late twenties, with dark hair and a long mustache.
“Greetings, travelers!” he said. “I am Sir Elberone of Dragonwall.”
“Dragonwall?” Micah called out. He was sitting cross-legged on the roof of the railcar up above them. “Is that the name of your city?”
“The mountain, little one. Just beyond Stormwatch. I will not be there to greet you upon your arrival, but watch for my return.”
“Where are you going?” said Shayla.
The knight glanced at her, and his eyes widened. “I am on a quest, fair lady: a journey of great need and importance. Perhaps the proudest and most noble adventure in my entire life. It saddens my heart deeply to know that I may never return to gaze upon your fairness.”
Shayla batted her eyelashes and fanned herself in mock modesty. Kale lowered his voice: “This one’s a smooth talker. Might even give you a run for your money, Thane.”
The bard ignored the comment.
“Is your quest dangerous, Sir Elberone?” Shayla said from behind her fan. The knight tilted his head to the side and smiled thinly as he looked over the rest of the crew.
“We are all in danger, fair lady. ‘Tis the reason I ride out this day. I ride to slay the fell dragon, and restore our kingdom to its once greatness.”
“Dragon,” Kale laughed. “You must be joking.”
Sir Elberone regarded him with a distasteful look. “This is no joke, friend, though you may soon come to wish it had been.” With a toss of his head, the knight flicked his visor down. “Beware the dragon,” he shouted, spurring his mechanical horse into a trot. As he pulled away from the train, he called over his shoulder, “And beware the dragon’s breath!”
They all watched as he rode away from the train, across the smooth, weather-worn stone, the clip-clop of the hooves and the wisht-wisht of the machinery echoing out over the landscape.
“What an odd man,” Shayla said. “Do you think he’s insane?”
“Obviously,” Kale said with a snort. “The fool thinks he’s a knight.”
“Maybe he is,” said River, staring after him.
Kale turned to face her. “There’s no such thing as knights, and especially not dragons. They’re fairy tales.”
River arched an eyebrow. “Like the undead at Castle Blackstone?” she said. “Or the giant worms we saw yesterday?”
“That’s it!” Micah said. “The dragon must be one of those worm creatures.”
River glanced up at him. “It’s possible…” she said. “But what about the other thing he said: Beware the dragon’s breath? What do you suppose that means?”
They all stared at her other for a moment, and then turned their attention back to the city. The train rolled on.
Chapter 2
Of all the crew, no one except Socrates shared Micah’s great love of maps and drawings and dusty old books. The halfling was a highly skilled artist, and with his love for drawing and collecting maps, he had been a natural choice as the train’s cartographer. Micah was honored to have the position, and he took his work quite seriously.
He was still sitting on the roof of the dining car as the Iron Horse rolled up the slow incline towards Stormwatch. This vantage provided an almost flawless perspective for his first drawing of the city. Micah hurriedly searched his satchel for an appropriate charcoal insert, and once he’d located the correct size, fumbled with his mechanical pencil for a few seconds, getting it assembled.
He began by sketching a rough outline of the town, with its stone-walled buildings and steep, clay-tiled roofs. He narrowed his eyebrows, squinting as he searched out the details of the road behind Stormwatch, leading up to the castle at the top of the mountain. He sketched a general outline of the castle and its towers, and the impressive wall stretching into the distance.
By the time Micah had the image drawn, the Horse had pulled into Stormwatch. The surrounding buildings blocked out his view of the mountain. He flipped the page and started anew, this time fleshing out more details of the town.
Stormwatch was only a small city when compared to New Boston or Sanctuary, but the architecture was nonetheless impressive. The streets of Stormwatch were paved with stone and lined with wrought iron gas lamps. The buildings were constructed of large stone blocks and massive timbers, so that each resembled a small castle. Many of these building were interconnected, or rather, the larger buildings had been divided up into smaller sections to make room for more shops and dwellings. Here and there, catwalks connected the upper stories and stretched across the streets. Micah noted scorch marks on the stone walls of some of the buildings, and hastily included them in his drawings.
As he captured these details, the Iron Horse rolled to a slow stop before an ancient railroad depot. It was little more than a raised stone platform with a decaying old building at the end and a few benches along the tracks. In the street at the edge of the platform, just a few yards away, Micah saw a stooped old woman leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden stick. She had straggly gray hair and was dressed all in black. Micah rose to his feet and waved at her.
“Good evening,” he said. “Are you a friend of Sir Elberone?”
The old woman turned her head sideways, staring at him curiously. She took a few steps closer, and glared up at him in silence.
“I’m Micah,” he said.
The woman snorted and shook her head. “You’re early,” she said in a raspy voice. She turned away and started hobbling up the street.
“Wait!” Micah called out. “Who are you? Did I say something wrong?”
At this point, the other crewmembers had begun to exit the train. The
woman heard the commotion and glanced back over her shoulder. About that time, Socrates leapt down from the locomotive and landed heavily on the depot platform. The gears inside his body clicked and hummed as he straightened up. A puff of steam rose from the tiny chimney behind his ear. He turned to face the woman.
“I am Socrates,” he said in a commanding voice. “This is the Iron Horse, and these people are my crew.”
The woman stared up at him for a moment. A slow smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she burst out laughing. Socrates frowned. He looked at the others, trying to discern whether he had missed some sort of joke. He found the rest of the crew equally mystified.
“Madam,” the ape said, stepping closer to the edge of the platform. “Would you please direct me to the town constable, or sheriff? Or perhaps a mayor?”
The woman cackled even louder. “Mayor indeed,” she said. “Most excellent... I’d better hurry.”
She started walking again. Frustrated, Socrates leapt from the platform into the street, just ahead of her. He covered a distance of several yards and then thudded down in her path. The old woman came to a stop facing him.
“Madam, please. I mean no disrespect-”
She raised her stick and smacked Socrates on the thigh. His leg made a hollow metal ringing noise, and her eyes widened. She lowered the stick and then reached out to poke him in the chest with a long bony finger.
“You’re real!” she said in amazement.
“Of course I am,” Socrates said. “And this is a most unusual welcome.”
The woman glared up into his face and then twisted slightly, taking them all in with a sweeping glance. “Go back!” she said, her old voice cracking with volume. She raised her cane and pointed it right at Micah. “Go back the way you came, before it’s too late.”
“I am afraid that is not an option,” Socrates said. “We are out of fuel.”
The woman looked at the train and then back at him. “Then you too are cursed, just like the rest of us. Climb back into that contraption of yours. Lock your doors, and pray.”
She glanced at the sky, shaking her head before she hurried down the street. “Beware the dragon’s breath!” she called over her shoulder. Socrates stared after her until she disappeared around the corner.
“What do you suppose that means?” Micah said. “Do you think there really is a dragon?”
“Perhaps,” Socrates said .
“Or perhaps we’ve discovered a city full of lunatics,” Kale said. He was still standing on the platform at the front of the dining car with River, Vann, and a few of the others.
Socrates motioned for River to join him. They stood on the edge of the platform, facing away from the train.
“Is something wrong?” River said.
“I believe so,” the ape said in a low voice. “Do you notice anything strange about this place?”
“You mean besides the crazy old lady, or the knight chasing dragons on his mechanical horse?”
Socrates grinned. “Yes, besides that. Look around you. Look there: I see chimney smoke. I see curtained windows, and flower gardens.”
“But where are all the people?” said River.
“Exactly.”
“Maybe they’re afraid of us.”
“Perhaps. They certainly seem to be afraid of something.”
River gazed at the eerily quiet streets and the darkened windows. “They’re watching us, aren’t they?”
“I’m certain of it. At any rate, I don’t want our crew wandering the steets until we know what’s going on here. I’d like you to organize a group to explore the city. Select a few good fighters, arm them, and try to find out who’s in charge of this place. Find out if there’s anyone here not insane.”
River nodded and disappeared inside the train.
“Vann,” Socrates said, turning back to the crew. “It is nearly dinnertime.”
“Already started,” Vann said, rolling up his sleeves. “It’ll be served within the hour.” The heavyset cook disappeared back inside the car. Socrates climbed up onto the locomotive. A moment later, his voice rang out through the communication pipes:
“All crew please be advised: for your own safety do not to leave the train without permission. We will be making contact with the town leaders shortly. In the meanwhile, enjoy your dinner and rest up for a big day tomorrow.”
Up on the roof, Micah gathered up his pencil and sketchpad, tucked them back into his satchel, and headed for the ladder. If he hurried, he might have time to capture a more detailed drawing of the city before nightfall. He had made his way through the corridors and passages to a point about a quarter of a mile outside the city. Altogether, the train was more than half a mile long, but here, Micah had decided, was the perfect view of Stormwatch. He climbed back onto the roof and selected a good vantage point. Then he opened his satchel, selected his favorite pencil, and once again began to draw.
As he worked, Micah heard the voices of the crew echoing down from the depot, the folding tables being erected on the platform, and the ching-ching of silverware. The smell of meat and fresh-baked bread came drifting down towards him. Micah’s stomach rumbled, but he continued to work, consumed by his desire to capture the scene.
The last rays of sunlight vanished behind the mountain. Darkness came, and along with it a dense fog that settled gradually over the city. Micah raced against the creeping shadows and obscuring haze as he hastened to put the finishing touches on his drawing. He absently reached for a colored pencil, and realized he couldn’t tell if he had selected blue or red. He sighed.
“No time for color tonight,” he mumbled under his breath. “At least I have the bones of it in place.”
Micah heard a wolf howl somewhere in the distance. It was an eerie, mournful sound, and it sent a chill crawling down his spine. He rose to his feet, gazing out into the misty darkness. Somewhere out there, another wolf responded.
Micah hurried back up the train, leaping from the end of the boxcar to the next. Within just a few yards, the halfling found his breath coming in deep gasps. He paused, looking back the way he had come, and realized that the view from the top of the train had been deceptive. The climb into Stormwatch was much longer and steeper than it had at first seemed. Micah turned, raising his gaze towards the city, and found that Stormwatch had vanished in the mist. In fact, the fog was so dense that he could barely see to the end of the next car.
Micah pushed on. The metal roof felt slick under his boots and his footfalls echoed hollowly as he trudged along. His limbs felt heavy, as if he were carrying a great load on his back, and it seemed that no matter how slowly he walked, he still couldn’t catch his breath. Soon, every step became a struggle.
It’s the fog, he thought. The stuff is so thick I can’t breathe. Micah dropped his satchel and sank to his knees. Perhaps he was ill. Perhaps he’d been smoking his pipe too often...
A rustling noise like dry grass in the wind shook him out of his thoughts. Micah crept over to the edge of the roof and peered down through the haze. He could see a few feet of slick, damp rock along the tracks. The mist swirled about him, the currents and eddies twisting into hypnotic spirals that left him feeling dizzy as they washed over him.
A shriek cut through the night, and simultaneously, Micah felt a whoosh of air across his face. He tumbled backwards and landed awkwardly on top of his satchel. A panic came over him as he searched the churning gray skies with wide, unblinking eyes. Not far away, he heard a sharp rattling sound that instantly brought to mind the venomous snakes of his homeland, high in the Blackrock mountains.
Micah cautiously rose to his feet, sliding the strap of his satchel across his chest. The rattling sound grew louder. It seemed to echo around him, coming from every direction at once. The fog was so dense that Micah could no longer see more than a few feet. His pulse quickened and his breath grew loud in his ears. The fog gusted away from the train for half a second, and Micah saw something large and glistening moving along the tracks down below.
He froze, staring breathlessly into the swirling haze. The mist parted, and he saw the rattles of a viper’s tail stretching out the full length of the railcar. A panicked cry nearly escaped his lips, but he forced it down. He stepped back, blinking in disbelief.
There was no such thing! No snake could be that long. It wasn’t possible…
The rattling sound rose to an ear-piercing crescendo, like a thousand snare drums covered in broken glass. The fog twisted and turned, the gloom pressing down like a smothering blanket. Micah heard a hiss behind him and spun around. He came face to face with two large glowing reptilian eyes.
Micah turned and ran. He leapt from one boxcar to the next. His heart drummed in his ears and his limbs were heavier than stone, but fear gave him strength. The rattling sound vanished behind him, and an oppressive silence closed in. He leapt to the next boxcar and and came to a hatch in the roof. He pulled it open. With a quick glance around, he ducked inside and locked the door behind him. Micah climbed down and found himself standing inside an empty boxcar. He stepped out into the hallway and someone tackled him from behind. Micah hit the floor hard enough to drive the breath out of his lungs. As he struggled to breathe, his attacker crawled to his feet and stared down at him. It was Thane.
Micah sucked in a deep gasp, and Thane’s eyes widened in horror. “No,” the bard said, staring down at him. “Devils, no!”
“What?” Micah gasped. He reached out, expecting a helping hand back to his feet.
Thane shook his head and again cried out, “NO!” The bard turned and fled down the passageway, towards the back of the train. Still wheezing, Micah rolled over onto his belly and rose to his knees.
“Thane… wait! Where are you going?”
It was too late. The bard was gone.
Micah crawled to his feet and gathered up his satchel. He considered going after his friend, but the bard’s strange behavior left him uneasy. Micah had an anxious sense that something truly bizarre was going on. He just couldn’t think straight enough to figure out what it was. Instead, he continued on his way to the library car. There, he would find safety. There, he could climb into his attic and curl up with a lantern and a good book...
The Dragon's Breath (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 3) Page 2
