Akiri: Dragonbane

by Brian D. Anderson

  Be ready, he told her.

  Her only reply was a ripple of eager rage that rushed through his blood, begging to be unleashed.

  He followed the undead as they marched through the night. He moved with care, but there was little he could do about the crunch of snow underfoot and the cracking of ice beneath as it shattered under his weight.

  With dawn on the horizon, Kyra loosed a shrill warning cry. They had turned and were converging on his position.

  The newcomer was still several miles away.

  Kyra began her descent, circling before she landed at Akiri’s side. The first of the dead came into view from between a group of tall pines. The reek of corruption was overpowering even at this distance. The rot had got deep into the creature. He dragged loops of gut across the ground as though it were the most natural thing in the world to carry his insides in his hands. Akiri unsheathed his sword, ready for the inevitable skirmish. He could cope with five mindless foes. He worked his shoulder. It felt better. Not good, but better. It took less than two minutes for the irregular line of dead men to stand before him.

  Akiri sneered. The sight of these things fueled his rage. Not at the creatures themselves, but at their maker.

  Kyra hissed and snorted a deep resonate rumble that seemed to be echoed in the stones beneath her feet. The sinews of her legs and scales along the ridge of her spine rippled, her body filled with pent up violence ready to explode into action.

  But the dead men did not continue their advance. They stood their ground, staring at the pair through vacant eyes. Only two carried any sort of weapon, and the scale of the rot and ruin that ate away at their broken bodies suggested they had been dead for some time.

  The longer they simply stood there, not moving forward, not moving back, the more obvious their intentions became – their master was using them as a shield to buy himself the time to escape. Akiri couldn’t allow that to happen; not with all the debts he owed and promises he’d made. The newcomer was not going to elude him.

  Akiri touched the Dul’Buhar blade to his forehead, a ritualistic bonding of flesh and steel, and charged, Kyra roaring by his side as she surged toward the ranks of the dead.

  But still the creatures did not flinch. They knew no fear.

  He saw wisps of smoke curling across his vision and wondered for the silence it took between ragged breaths what sort of fell magic this was. With only a few feet left between them, the corpse in the center of the shabby line burst into flames. The others, he saw, smoldered, the same curls of smoke rising from their meat.

  Akiri skidded to a halt, Kyra beside him.

  The dead man stood stone still and silent as the fire charred its flesh. On either side, the others turned to face it, arms extended, reaching out.

  From the corner of his eye, Akiri caught the sudden flare of the jewel set in the pommel of his sword as its radiance intensified. The short hairs along the nape of his neck prickled. “Back!” Akiri yelled at Kyra.

  But it was too late.

  He felt the sudden rush all around him, as though the mountain itself had sucked in a huge stony lungful of air, followed by a blinding flash, and then he was lifted from his feet and hurled away. He hit the ground hard, slamming up against the thick trunk of a pine with all the force of a deadly fist rammed into his gut, robbing him of breath.

  Unable to see through the pain, he felt the cold snow on his hands as he tried to stop himself from falling.

  Another shockwave hit him with the fury of the mountain’s elemental rage, pitching him backwards. His head slammed into the ground, his entire world turning black.

  The last thing he heard before consciousness left him was Kyra’s desperate cry.

  * * * * *

  The chill air demanded he open his eyes.

  The moon cast a soft glow over the snow-covered ground, lending the landscape a mystical appearance. He lay on his side, the hilt of his sword jammed into his kidney where he had dropped it.

  He looked around groggily, trying to think what had happened, and as the fugue passed, he remembered the dragon’s scream.

  Kyra! He reached out with his mind, trying to touch her consciousness.

  He pushed himself up, and the sudden movement left his head swimming as the world tilted away beneath him. His entire body protested. But his relief at seeing her standing a few feet away, watching over him, banished all discomfort. As best he could tell, she appeared unhurt, albeit as dazed as he was.

  He struggled to his feet, and stumbled over to where the undead had been.

  Had been…

  The ground was scorched in a line all the way down to the bedrock, the grass burned away, the soil melted. This was powerful magic. He had made a mistake; he would not make the same mistake again. This was a foe to be respected.

  “Can you fly?” he asked.

  She lifted her head, tilted it as though reading his worry, and let out a furious roar that defied the world to hold her down as she leapt six feet into the air and pounded her wings.

  He could feel her rage pouring into him, fueling his own.

  The man had come from the direction of Jarba Lake, so it was not unreasonable to assume that was where he had returned. From the position of the moon, Akiri judged it to be an hour or two after midnight, which meant they had lost a lot of time and explained his grogginess. It would be well into the next morning before he could reach it , and longer still before he caught up with his prey, no matter how quickly he moved. Yet he wasn’t about to send Kyra after him without knowing what she was facing, especially after witnessing the power that had been unleashed upon them. For all he knew it was a sample; a warning meant to discourage pursuit. He would eventually test his enemy’s strength. But on his own terms.

  When he reached the area where Kyra had seen the figure emerge from the woodland, he saw footprints that led back into the thick of the forest. He followed them. It didn’t take long to confirm his suspicions. The man was heading for the lake.

  The air became warmer the further he traveled down the slopes. Soon the snow was little more than a thin layer, with patches of grass obstinately jutting out from the ground. A look back the way he had come reminded him just how harsh life at that altitude could be. Up there the air was thinner, each breath providing less in the way of sustenance. Already down here the air was thick, each breath offering a heady hit in his lungs. He felt twice as strong and more than capable of running the enemy down, chasing the man through the woodland and across the lake and distant marshlands. He felt powerful. He knew it was just the lower elevation, but after the rarified air of the mountains, he savored the sensation.

  Kyra maintained her watch. He felt her mounting frustration as she failed to locate their quarry.

  Just before dawn he stumbled across a narrow path, barely wide enough for a wagon. The reality of what it meant made his heart sink: a boat and a dock.

  Jarba Lake was quite large; the largest body of water for hundreds of miles. Though not extremely broad – one could row across in a day or more – its length was considerable. There were least a dozen fishing villages scattered around its banks and more on the distant shore. If he picked the wrong one, the man was gone forever.

  He flees. The words buried in Kyra’s thought struck him. He flees on water.

  Stay well out of sight, he cautioned.

  She didn’t seem happy with the command, but she obeyed.

  Akiri picked up his pace, breaking into a steady ground-eating lope, determined not to allow his prey to get too far ahead.

  He reached the lake after almost two hours of steady running. Between his furs, the heat of his body, and the slowly rising temperature, Akiri had no option but to shed his furs, and he packed them away. They were bulky and awkward to carry, but there was no telling when he would need them again.

  A small shack stood near the waterline to his left. There was no one about. Worse, there was no other boat on the water.

  The open door revealed several lengths of rope and a
few empty crates, nothing more.

  Akiri walked around the side of the building, where he discovered the body of an older man slumped against a barrel that had been set beneath the gutter to catch run-off rain. He hunkered down beside the corpse, half-expecting to be hit by the sickly rush of decay. This was a fresh kill, however. Blood soaked his shirt from where a dagger had been plunged into his heart. The dead man’s hands were still clutched around the hilt. Better to die this way than be torn apart by the undead – or to become one of them, Akiri thought. Kyra shared the sentiment.

  The lake was far too vast to walk around; it would take days. His quarry would make landfall on the other side long before then. And once he entered a town, it would be easy to disappear among the people even if Kyra had his scent.

  Akiri looked out along the jetty. Beneath the water, he saw the shadow of a small boat; the damage to its hull was enough to know that it had been scuttled.

  Akiri waded into the icy lake, the cold water clutching around his legs as he dragged the boat to the shore.

  The damage was not as bad as he’d feared. He set to gathering mud and grass to work into a paste and used a strip of cloth from the dead man’s shirt to patch the breach. It would do. It would have to.

  He ripped a plank from the side of the jetty to use as a makeshift oar.

  Once the boat was in the water, he double-checked the seal to be sure it was watertight. If it didn’t hold, there was a good chance he would drown. It wouldn’t take much for the surface to freeze, and even less for the cold water to sap the strength out of his muscles long before he reached the shore. But what choice did he have?

  Akiri pushed off from the dock side and began to paddle with the timber. It was slow going at first. He watched the mud-seal rather than the horizon, and with no sign of water seeping through, risked more vigor. The problem was that he was chasing an undamaged boat with proper oars. There was no way he would catch the other man, but that didn’t matter as long as he did not fall too far behind.

  SEVEN

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Three times Akiri had to mend the patch. Though the repairs were successful, it did mean unwanted delays.

  The water that had leaked in made each mend weaker than the last and meant the little rowboat was watertight for shorter and shorter time. But he was alive, and that was enough.

  By midafternoon, Kyra had tracked the robed figure to the outskirts of a lakeside village. The settlement was almost directly opposite from where they had started. She couldn’t sniff him out from there, losing him amid the scents of everyday village life, so she returned to Akiri, circling and swooping low as he rowed ever on.

  The effort tested his shoulder, but grit and determination saw him to shore, sore but safe. The boat was ankle deep in water, the patch leaking badly as he’d given up trying to fix it for the last few minutes. It had taken the best part of a full day to row ashore, with him weakening as the journey slowed. Three jetties, each with small fishing boats bobbing at their moorings, stretched out into the lake. He was interested in what lay beyond – a small market and several single-story buildings.

  The village itself was surrounded by a palisade built with logs, no doubt from the nearby woodland, which ended in a row of uneven points. They were serious about keeping people out – at least compared to what one would expect from a simple fishing village. With no room to berth along the docks, Akiri dragged the boat up onto the muddy bank, his feet slipping and sliding as he struggled ashore. There were precious few people about. No one came to welcome him or question his arrival. He saw a pair of merchants packing up for the day, but they didn’t give him a second glance.

  The village was bigger than he’d first imagined. He walked through the empty market square, where against the far wall he saw several armed men. He could read the tension in their bodies. They were dressed in battered but serviceable leather breastplates and dented helms. As they watched him cross the square, he saw one point in his direction. He responded by raising his hand in greeting. Small villages were wise to be wary of strangers; it was just the way of the world. Fighting on foreign fronts brought unease, and unease brought unrest. But he had gold enough to buy at least a few passing friendships before he moved on.

  It didn’t take long for their attention to shift skyward.

  Kyra.

  So much for keeping a low profile, he thought wryly. He scanned the length of the ramparts. There were only two men in position, and neither carried bows, so things weren’t likely to turn nasty.

  Akiri checked his gear and continued his slow measured pace until he reached the gate.

  “You there,” bellowed one of the two guards, as they drew their weapons. It wasn’t the most hospitable of greetings. The man was tall, though cursed with narrow shoulders and a reed-thin frame. His face was freckled, and a thick mop of red hair poked out from underneath his helm. “Does that beast follow you?”

  Akiri smiled. “Why don’t you keep pointing your swords at me and find out?” Kyra called from above to mark his words.

  The men exchanged wary glances. This was clearly a situation for which they were unprepared. Slowly, they lowered their weapons.

  “What’s your business here?”

  “I’m looking for someone. He arrived today, from the lake,” he replied. Reaching into his pouch, he retrieved a silver coin. “You might have seen him? He was wearing red and black robes.”

  The guard eyed the coin for a second, but made a face and shrugged. “Didn’t see no one like that.”

  Akiri’s brow furrowed. As best he could tell, the man wasn’t lying. “Is there another way in he might have used?”

  “Front gate, maybe.” He pointed off to his right, and Akiri saw a small trail worn into the dirt along the base of the wall. When he saw Akiri pocketing the shiny piece of silver, greed or need got the better of him. He quickly added, “We’re the night guard. He could have passed through here earlier. We can put the word out for you, if you’d like.” He looked meaningfully at where the coin had disappeared.

  Akiri reached into his pocket and tossed it up to him. “I would appreciate that. And don’t trouble yourself over the dragon. She won’t come unless I call her. Or unless someone points a sword at me.” He smiled at that, mainly because the guard couldn’t be sure if he was joking or not.

  He reached for the gate, only for the guards to bar his way.

  “Curfew, I’m afraid. No one is allowed in or out after sundown.” Akiri reached for another coin, but the man continued: “That won’t help. Sorry. I just can’t let you in. It would be my neck. You could try the main gate, but I doubt you’ll have any better luck. Not unless that old wreck you floated in on is filled with gold.”

  Akiri frowned. He did have more coins, but not enough to bribe an entire guard. And frankly, he would have rather spent it on food. Just thinking about it was enough to have the hunger gnaw away at his gut. He considered the situation. His quarry was unlikely to backtrack or skirt the village. It would have been good to know if the man was in there, but he could send Kyra on to check out the lay of the land. “I see,” he said. “The if you will excuse me, I’ll check with the front gate.”

  “You do that.”

  He gave the guards a nod and started toward the trail. Akiri made his way around the stockade. The few sentries he saw posted along on the wooden wall eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t challenge him. The true extent of the village made it more of a town, truth be told, and it took several minutes of brisk walking to reach the main gate.

  A deep gully prevented a direct approach, forcing him to cross the scrub to the road more than two hundred yards from the gate. For a while, he walked behind a heavily laden cart that was passing by, which swayed as it jounced and juddered as an emaciated ox heaved it along the road. The wretched animal only had a few journeys left in it. The driver barely gave Akiri a second glance as he fell into lockstep with him, a deliberate ploy to appear part of the man’s team. They reached the gate at the same
time. The driver raised a hand and gave a shout to someone on the other side, and a moment later, the gate groaned open.

  “You’re really cutting it close, fella, best get inside sharpish. The moon’s coming up,” the gatekeeper said, slapping the driver a hearty whack on the back and waving him through. Akiri walked on in with them, pretending he belonged. That was the secret half the time, just acting like you belonged. He nodded to the gatekeeper.

  With luck on his side – he refused to think of it in terms of the gods being with him – he’d end this tonight. How many taverns could there be in town? Half a dozen? Maybe a few inns. It shouldn’t be too hard to track down a stranger. Unless, of course, he was a local. Then it would be harder, although not impossible, to smoke out someone meddling with forbidden magic.

  The gates closed behind them, a huge timber dropping into place to bar the way.

  A small square opened into a larger one that served as a market. The town was obviously some sort of hub serving the other settlements along the lake, which would account for its size and the need for defenses. Beyond, he saw lamplighters moving through the street, lighting the way, and heard a flute playing in the distance.

  The driver steered the ox across the square and then heaved his massive girth down from his seat. He groaned and stretched, tiny beads of sweat peppering his face and brow. As he wiped them away, Akiri saw the dark rings staining his armpits, the honest marks of a day’s hard toil. Despite the condition of his beast and the rickety construction of the cart, the man was relatively well dressed; his clothes tailored to fit his bulk. He blew out a weary breath, leaning on the cart’s hitch and shaking his head.