The Dragon's Banker

by Scott Warren

  “Just between you and I,” she began, leaning down in what was admittedly an impressive display of cleavage. “I’m actually…”

  “Not interested,” I said, cutting off whatever she had been about to say. I shoved my mug at her. “Bring me something stronger.”

  I wasn’t particularly interested in getting drunk, but it was the only surefire way to get her away from the table. Once she turned and I tore my eyes from her swaying hips, I pushed back and got to my feet. If she was already here it was only a matter of time before trouble arrived. The nearest exit was only a few yards away, and I made it about three steps before a voice beckoned to me from the corner. Its owner wore a hooded cloak and was draped in shadow.

  “Good sir, I have important—”

  “No.” I said without a second glance.

  For a brief moment I dared to believe myself free, but the door banged open before I could reach it. A woman screamed behind me as armored men began to file in, stepping in rhythm as they held their two-handed swords vertically in front of them. They spread out around me in a crescent, continuing to march in place so perfectly timed that it rattled the floorboards. To a man, each had a blackened bandana draped over the lower half of his face. Inwardly I cursed. This would be harder to side-step than a secret heiress.

  It seemed the prophecy was especially potent tonight.

  With all the pomp of a parade, the Blackened-Bandana Blademasters stopped, spun their swords, and planted the tips in the floor. I honestly wasn’t sure if they intended to attack me or launch into a song. Both have happened before, and I hesitate to say which is more frightening. But their leader stepped forward and held his blade aloft to me.

  “We’ve searched long and hard for you, Arturus Stormblade, and now you’ll answer to the His Majesty Dark Lord Emperor.”

  Ah, a more traditional exchange. Stormblade, though. That was a new one. It took a moment to recall which prophecy they might have been referencing.

  “Wrong guy,” I said. It was my go-to.

  The tip of the blademaster’s sword dropped a hair, then returned. “Are you not the wielder of the sword which conjures the fury of the gods of thunder and lightning?”

  I shrugged. “Do you see any such sword?” I asked. There were whispers amongst the blademasters on either side.

  “I suppose not.”

  This time the blade dropped almost to the floor before one of the other blademasters leaned over and murmured something to the leader. The point came up to menace me once more.

  “Aha! Yes, the Stormblade will be marked by herrings on his palms! Show me your hands!”

  “Herrings? Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I’m quite certain it’s herrings,” said one of the blademasters in the back. Several others nodded their agreement.

  I glanced at my palms, then held them aloft as the leader of the Blackened Bandanas squinted down.

  “I’m pretty certain that’s a pheasant on the right,” I said. “The left one might be a badger? It’s hard to tell.”

  Again, the blademasters whispered amongst themselves.

  “I must admit, that does not look much like a herring,” said the leader.

  “Sorry,” I said, but the blademaster waved me off. I didn’t mention that I had so many palm markings stacked on top of each other that it was impossible to sort them out. Several of his men relaxed. Some even returned their swords to the sheaths on their backs.

  About this time Rose returned with my drink, and before the blademasters could get any ideas about her I lofted the mug. “How about a round on me for the road?” I shouted. There are few equalizers greater than beer, and it seemed not even the Blackened Bandana Blademasters were immune.

  Coin was rarely an issue for me and I was happy to share. You’d be amazed how much a collector will pay for a sword that controls the weather.

  Chapter 2

  It was a curious thing, watching twenty blademasters attempt to drink around their bandanas without actually removing them. But drink they did. As the hours drifted by, I watched the elite warriors slip one-by-one into a stupor, defeated by the freely flowing ale. I had quietly switched to water shortly after their arrival. No one ever said I had to beat them with a blade. That sounded like suicide to me. What kind of lunatic would attempt to fight twenty skilled swordsmen at once?

  Finally, the leader began to slump forward like the rest of his men. I got to my feet with stealth a mountain cat would envy and crept toward the door. There were plenty of imperial horses in town, and I intended to steal one and put as much distance between myself and the empire’s forces as was possible. I passed the corner where a shadowy figure now lay across the table with a knife hilt protruding from his back. No one challenged my exit.

  Outside the tavern the festival was still going strong. I dusted off my jerkin and set out through the press to the east. Beyond the lights strung between the structures I could see the Capital in the distance; it glowed with umbral light beneath persistent storms. I’ve heard that every time the Dark Lord Emperor speaks, a bolt follows close behind, and he must pause and wait for the thunder to pass. That’s a terribly inefficient way to run an empire, in my opinion.

  Musicians and revelers filled the street, dancing as If choreographed to a tune about heroic feats. My ears reddened, and I pulled up my collar when I realized that I was the subject of that song. Several of the singers ricocheted off me as I pushed against the flow of sharp elbows and spinning kicks, seeking quieter avenues. Once away I made my way to the livery where the imperial soldiers had stabled their horses for the night. There were too many for the small town to house, so some were picketed outside, and a few slices with my magic dagger would liberate one of the animals.

  I jumped the small fence and set to the task of freeing one of the horses. They weren’t even guarded. I smiled to myself. Then I froze, dread mounting, as I realized the words I had almost uttered.

  This is too easy.

  “Hold right there!” a voice said behind me, and I cursed. Just thinking it had been enough to trigger the cosmic geas that hung about my shoulders. I turned, and three imperial soldiers had filled the previously empty alleyway behind me. They wore black cuirasses and chain skirts, and all three had a longsword at their hip. I had nothing but the knife in my hand.

  “Stay back,” I said, looking around for an avenue of escape.

  Of course, they ignored me. A common horse thief was no threat to them, but they had caught me red-handed so there was no bluffing my way out.

  “Put it down lad, and we’ll make this quick and clean,” said the one in the middle. The other two drew swords.

  I looked around again, but a passage I had previously thought clear turned out to be barred and boarded. I cursed again—you can’t take your eyes off an escape route for the blink of an eye in this gods-forsaken country. There was no outrunning fate tonight, it seemed. I’ve noticed that these strings pulled strongest near festival days. Gods only knew why.

  There was no escape, but there was a broom. I picked it up and settled back into a dueling stance with the handle lofted above my head and my off-hand extended.

  The soldiers stopped as everything seemed to click into place. The one on the left lifted a mailed forearm, pointing at my broom.

  “He’s a master of Kli’shaes! We are undone!”

  His opposite dropped his sword entirely. “Our lives are forfeit!” he wailed. Both fled, leaving their compatriot alone. I hold no ill will toward the Dark Empire’s soldiers. Most of them aren’t really bad guys, you know, for being the fist of imperial oppression.

  I would have preferred that all three had fled. But fate had other plans, and it seemed like this night would not let me leave so easily.

  The last soldier drew his sword. He spaced his feet apart and drew the blade level with his eyes. “Now I know who you are, Arturus Dawnlight,” he said. “I’ve often wondered how well my Rising Dragon would stand up to your Kli’shaes.”

  This was the wo
rst-case scenario. The man would inevitably be a master of his particular school; deadly, graceful, and terribly aggressive. Fighting him would be foolish (not to mention lethal) so I reversed my grip and hurled the broomstick at his face with all the grace I could muster after several strong drinks. I did mention I left the monastery after a day or two, yes? That one stance was all I knew. I didn’t linger long enough to learn what came next.

  Sometimes luck does favor me. The tip of the pole nailed the imperial squarely on the bridge of his nose and his head rocked back. Before he could recover I scrambled up and over the rear wall.

  Chapter 3

  Bedlam. The only word to describe it was bedlam. While I’d been distracted with the three soldiers the reveling had turned to riots. The orange glow of the festival lanterns had been replaced with the deeper red of structure fires dotting River’s Edge and reflecting off the blanket of black smoke above. Cinders danced in the air where festival goers had previously danced in the street. I had definitely stayed too long, and the only option now was getting out of town. Unfortunately, I’d already been spotted by a column of imperial soldiers.

  “Nope,” I said, turning away. But it was too late.

  “It’s him! Arturus Landbreaker!”

  “Wrong guy!” I shouted as I broke into a run in the opposite direction, but it was already too late. A war cry rose up behind me as the soldiers gave chase. I led them down a side street but didn’t make it much further. Dozens of villagers began to flood the narrow path from the opposite direction armed with torches, pitchforks, chair legs, and other improvised implements of bashing or poking.

  “It’s Arturus Swansong come to free us! No more will we live under the yolk of the Dark Lord Emperor!”

  “No!” I shouted.

  I was caught between two advancing lines of angry men and women, but only one was intent on sticking me full of holes. I ran toward the rioters. It was like trying to swim upstream through rapids. Villagers bashed and jostled me from all sides. I came out the back of the horde with a split lip, a black eye, and a half-dozen new bruises. Behind me the sound of battle was met by the ringing of steel as the two forces collided. I simply bent double for a moment to catch my breath. Disasters like this were drawn to me like a magnet. But it was a relief to be out of it, until a scream drew my gaze back up.

  Three horses sporting three blademasters crashed through a barricade ahead. The scream had come from the figure slung across the saddle of the leader, a figure with a shock of red hair and ample cleavage.

  “Are you kidding me?” I screamed at them.

  Both Rose and the blademaster locked eyes with me, surprise and recognition registering on their faces. The riders wheeled their horses around, but not before Rose was able to throw something behind her. She continued to scream as the horses galloped east toward the Capital. I must admit, the girl had an impressive set of pipes. I crept up to see what she had discarded. There in the mud lay a small flute of silver that clearly held some significance, perhaps even an enchantment. Something in my mind whispered that it was the key to bringing down the Dark Lord Emperor.

  “Nope.”

  I left it where it lay and struck out north into the woods.

  I jogged by starlight until the sounds of rioting were deadened by the press of trees and the wind in the leaves. Once no man-made noise could reach me I relaxed and collapsed against an elm tree to rest a moment and shut my eyes. I had just begun to nod off when the squeak of a tiny voice jolted me out of my dozing.

  “At last our hero has come!”

  It took some effort to open my eye and survey the clearing. I didn’t see anyone, so I rolled onto my side and tried to sleep again.

  “Brave champion, the forest needs you!”

  This time I sat up and looked around. A few feet away from me sat the fattest squirrel I had ever seen, wringing its paws and looking at me from atop a twisted root.

  I groaned. “Can’t I just sleep for one gods-damned night?

  The squirrel turned a full circle in excitement and jumped to the next closest root. “There’s a sword north of here, it lies at the base of the Grandfather tree waiting for a hero with the courage to stand against the evil of the Dark Lord Emperor!”

  It was clear I would get no reprieve from the fat little forest creature. I rubbed my stubble and sat up.

  “Grandfather tree, huh? Sword of courage? Sounds interesting, come closer and tell me more.”

  Chapter 4

  Forests are not comfortable places to sleep. No matter how tired you may be, the floor is littered with rocks and roots and gnarled brambles. So instead I built a fire. I passed a couple hours dozing in its warmth and nursing my blackened eye. The next time I heard rustling in the woods it was too big to be any squirrel, and my feet were under me before the shambling figure of a woman with a too-large pack stumbled through the bramble and into the dirt.

  I relaxed, a bit, and helped her regain her feet.

  She dropped the bag and dusted herself off. “Thanks,” she said. “I saw your fire. I’m looking for the town of River’s Edge, but I think I’m lost.”

  I looked south. It was hard to see the fires through the thicket but I could smell smoke on the wind. The riots would be raging well into the morning. “You should look for someplace else,” I said.

  “Oh,” she said. Then shrugged. “Name’s Mara. Mind if I join you?”

  Mara was covered in so much dirt that it was difficult to determine how pretty she was. She certainly didn’t look like a clandestine princess, but one can never be too safe.

  “Let me see your teeth first,” I said.

  Mara raised one eyebrow. The smile she offered me was more nervous than friendly. Luckily, she had a snaggletooth, so she was probably safe. Plus, she was at least twice my age. I gestured to my campfire.

  “Squirrel?” I offered. My new acquaintance gladly accepted.

  As she dug in, Mara explained her position.

  “I’m a treasure hunter,” she said around greasy bites. “I specialize in magical artifacts. I was on my way to River’s Edge because my arcanist friend there can identify enchantments and can get me a good deal on magic artifacts. Now I’ll have to go all the way to the Capital.”

  I sat up straighter. “Really? I’m something of an expert in that field myself. I could probably help you out,” I said. In fact I knew the arcanist she was talking about, and he was the reason I had gone to River’s Edge in the first place.

  “You?” asked Mara, cackling. “You’re barely old enough for a trial of manhood.”

  “Ah, but you have the honor of speaking to the great Arturus Kingson!” I proclaimed.

  Mara paused, then a grin split her face. “Liar,” she said.

  “Call me Arty,” I said, returning the grin. Gods it was refreshing to be no one for a few minutes. I pointed to her bag. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Mara chuckled as she loosened the ties. “Ok Mr. Hero, what do you make of this?” she asked, tossing over a sheathed short sword. I drew the forearm’s-length of silvery metal and immediately recognized it.

  “The parasitic hunger of elm trees is a blight upon the forest and serves only to weaken the station of the hard-working poplar!” I declared, and then swung the sword at the tree trunk behind me. The blade sliced deep into the wood and lodged partway through. Mara whistled as I wrenched the blade free and handed it back to her.

  “Sword of Half Truth,” I said. “It can cut halfway through anything.”

  “That sounds… somewhat useful,” said Mara.

  “Yeah, but it only works while proselytizing. Can you imagine trying to deliver a lecture in the middle of a swordfight?”

  “What about this?” asked Mara, swapping the sword for a small knobby length of wood and tossing it over.

  “Ah,” I said, careful to keep the tip away from myself. “The Gelder Wand. Very prized among horse dealers. Part of a set of three, along with the Philanthropist’s Stone and the Invisible Cloak.”
/>   “Don’t you mean Invisibility Cloak?”

  “I wish.” An invisibility cloak would have saved me a lot of trouble instead of becoming a vanishing trip hazard in the midst of escaping imperial assassins. “I had the Stone for a bit too but felt compelled to give it away along with all my money.” I handed the wand back to Mara and she traded it for a small box. When I saw what was inside I looked up at her. “Where did you get this?” I asked.

  “An old crone traded it to me for a bushel of red apples. For her ‘experiments’ she claimed,” said Mara. “She told me a single prick would put someone to sleep for one-hundred years, or until they get kissed by a prince.”

  I pulled the spinning wheel needle from its cushion. “Well it certainly won’t do that,” I said, “but it could give you something else.”

  “What’s that?” asked Mara.

  “Lockjaw, probably,” I said, flicking the rusty needle into the woods. “A fake. The real one turned up in a province down south last year and I got lucky enough to nab it. I hope the princess has some comfortable pillows because a kiss wasn’t what I heard, and witches don’t seem to be familiar with the concept of ‘consent.’”

  Mara looked at me, really looked at me for the first time. “You really are him, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  Mara gestured toward the Capital with the sheathed short sword. “But you were supposed to stop all that! The Dark Lord Emperor’s rise to power.”

  “I was eight.”

  She paused. “I guess that’s true. Are you headed to the Capital now?”

  “Not if I can avoid it,” I said, and settled back against the hollow of my tree again. “I’ve been pushed and pulled by so many prophecies and portents that I can’t walk six steps without sinking into the middle of an epic ballad. Every song, every story, every old fortune teller looking into a crystal ball has something to say about how I’ll defeat the Dark Lord Emperor, rescue the princess, or become the one true king. Not a one matches up with the others.”