His stomach clenched with joy and adrenaline, imagining himself a hero like his father, vanquishing dragons and taking their treasure. Maybe he wasn’t a real hero, but things could be set right again. Finding Father would return everything back to normal, together they would walk through the gates of Calimska and demand justice. Mother would sing again and Father would lead new adventures. Elrin could take a name and get his ink; finally be someone with a guild to call his own, at last he’d be accepted.
The shadows cast by the bright white moon and the warm yellow tavern lamps hid Elrin as he crept towards the roadhouse. The front door hung open, ventilating the well-lubricated banter of men finished a long days labour. Above the group of Jandan soldiers congregating around the entrance hung a sign painted with a seabird making off with a crab in its beak. A gull of some kind, just like the ones around the Lake of Tears back in Calimska.
To get past the guards without being noticed, Elrin needed a distraction. He picked up a pebble and lobbed it into the bushes beside the guards. One guard looked then returned to his ale and conversation. Elrin chose a larger stone and aimed it closer to them. The stone arced high and hit the sign above their heads, bounced off a guard’s shoulder then dropped into his tankard.
“Ash it! Not my bloody drink!”
The guards looked straight at the bush, which Elrin hid behind.
“That you Minni?” The struck guard squinted into the shadows, shielding his eyes from the lamp that hung by the door. “Quit pissing around. Come and have an ale with us before you swallow the damn sea!”
After a quick translation, Elrin dashed off behind the roadhouse to avoid any deeper scrutiny. Knowing the Jandan language would serve him well on the coast. His father had taught him many tongues of trade important to Calimska, though Jandan was his boyhood favourite, it was so different from the languages west of the range, flavoured by the exotic empires far across the Salroc Sea. It had come naturally to him under his father’s tutelage and while Kleith did his best after his father left, Elrin never trusted the Herder’s pronunciation of the clipped toneless language. They couldn’t afford a proper tutor, so Elrin practised on Jandan traders whenever they came to market. Amongst folk this side of the range his Calimskan accent would stand out, so he would say as little as possible, have an ale and let his ears adjust to the local cadence.
The back door was left open and a heavy man with a greasy beard and a filthy apron lent against the wall beside it, smoking a pipe. When the cook finished his puff and walked into the darkness to pass water in the bushes, Elrin crept through the open door and into a small kitchen.
It stank of rendered fat and wood smoke hung in the air. A cast iron stove held a lonely skillet frying a joint of lamb. His stomach groaned. The corner of the room was piled with dirty pots, pans and plates. Beside this, great vats of dishes stagnated amongst floating islands of lard in a slosh of dirty water. It was enough to put him off the idea of ordering a meal.
Elrin pushed through a swinging door into the taproom. A short crowded bar was wedged in the near corner and at the far end of the room an impromptu company of local musicians had coalesced. They played a fine tune considering the ragged state of their instruments, singing along in weathered harmony; rough and cheerful. Patrons crowded together sharing bench seats and resting their ale on stained timber. Several tables were occupied by dice games; shine and shell flowed back and forth with good-natured cheering and jeering. Local farmers and labourers, fishermen and traders shared jokes and recounted exaggerations of the day’s events.
There was not a Calimskan in sight, no one would recognise him here. He was free to relax and make merry, to celebrate his escape and new beginnings.
As he scanned the room for a place to sit, Elrin’s throat clenched. In a dim corner alone at a table a woman sat staring at him with a look of interest akin to a cat examining a sparrow. It was the dark-eyed woman from Calimska. She smiled and he blushed; confused and abashed. She was intoxicating, filling him with equal parts fear and desire. What was she doing here? She helped him once; perhaps she would again.
He made his way to her table through the crowd and took up a seat, removing his cowl.
Elrin whispered in his best Jandan. “Are you following me?”
Minni laughed. “Should I be? Who are you anyway?”
“I’m Elrin.”
“That’s it? You shiners have longer titles than that.” Minni smirked, holding back another laugh. “Oh, I see. Keeping your ink up your sleeve. You must be in trouble.”
“I’m just Elrin, my father didn’t—” Elrin was annoyed at himself. He was no good at keeping his secrets close. “Why should I say? Who are you?”
“Minella, Minni, Witch, Wench, Reik, Jandan Spy. Your pick is as good as another’s.”
“Are you really a witch and a spy? I don’t want to get mixed up in anything.”
“Too late for that; seems you’re the politics of the day, Elrin No Name.” Minni handed Elrin a notice. “Picked this off the wall on the way in. Know anything about it?”
It was a dead letter, scrawled first in Calimskan then translated into Jandan. Elrin shook his head in disbelief. “Why do I have a dead letter against me? These are lies. I’m not a spy, nor am I a poacher.”
“A killer?”
“I suppose I am.” Elrin avoided her accusing eyes. “But, he was trying to kill me. A whole bunch of them were.”
“So you ran?”
“I had to. No ink, no justice.”
“So you’re anti-guild then. You wanted the Guildmaster dead.”
“No.”
“You just happen to quote the anti-guild mantra.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. I was just a messenger. Not officially, I never got a guild tattoo, but that’s not the point. Look, I overheard something I shouldn’t have, something about my father and something about the power of gods. The Guildmaster had his guards try to kill me. I got away, thanks to you. But, this bounty, I’ll have to ... now I don’t know what to do. How do I outrun that?”
“How about you start by pulling that cowl over your face.” Minni eased her expression. “I tore this from the board out front, doubt any here could read much anyway, but it only takes one and word will spread. I’ve never seen a bounty so rich, with land and title to boot. It’s got the Jandans all flustered, sending riders and birds like it was the return of their Lord. Every bounty hunter in Jando will be out to bag your bones.”
Elrin followed her advice, covering his face and sinking down into his seat. The charges on the dead letter were as preposterous as the bounty was exorbitant; the Guildmaster must be desperate to keep his conversation a secret. If only Elrin could understand what they were on about he might find some leverage.
The front door swung open and knocked against the wall. Three hard faced men, heavily slung with weapons, muscled in. They scanned the room. Their leader, a bearded man, spoke to the barkeep while the other two questioned a table of sailors.
Minni knocked Elrin’s foot under the table. “The wolves are hungry. It’s time to head off, before they catch your scent.”
“You go. You’re not safe with me.” Elrin tapped the dead letter. “Not with this.”
The bearded bounty hunter tossed a purse onto the bar. The barman tested the weight and peeked inside before nodding toward Elrin and Minni. The bearded man glared at them, spitting a gob of tobacco onto the floor. A lingering strand of spittle stuck to his wiry red beard. He called to his men and pointed across the room to their table.
“Too late now.” Elrin got up from the table, put on his satchel and grabbed Minni’s hand. “We’ve got to leave.”
Minni shook free of his grip. “You go. I’ll be fine.”
“No, I got you into this.” Elrin grabbed Minni’s hand again and this time she obliged.
They ran out through the kitchen.
“Into the forest, quick!” Elrin urged Minni to run ahead. He knocked the skillet off the stove then ran out behind her
.
The bearded man crashed through the door and slipped on the oil. His two companions kept their footing and took chase.
Once outside, the bounty hunters fired their crossbows. A bolt whizzed passed Elrin’s ear, spurring his legs to run with everything they had.
Minni was too fast; he couldn’t keep up as she dodged through the trees. It wasn’t long before he lost her in the shadows. He pressed up against a trunk, silhouettes ran through the bush all around him, making no more than a gentle rustle as they flew past. How many bounty hunters were there? The Jandan soldiers must have joined the hunt. With the size of the bounty, Elrin imagined the whole roadhouse would be after him. Even if the patrons split it, they’d all have more shine than they would ever knew what to do with.
Searching the shadows of the forest for a place to hide, Elrin crept behind the wide trunk of a fallen tree. Guilt crouched down beside him, silent and knowing. He had lost Minni in the chase. She was on her own against all those men. The Reik ran so fast, perhaps she was a local and knew the forest well enough to make her escape. She must have known which way to go; if only he’d managed to keep up with her.
A man’s cry for help was cut short and someone ran towards him. Elrin couldn’t figure out how far away they were. The forest confused his ears, dampening and spreading sounds around him. He was used to the clatter of the city streets. Men calling their wares, hooves on the cobbles, hammer on nail and anvil. Here it was a cacophony of nature. Crickets played a vigorous melody against the call of night birds and the cool night breeze stirred the trees to rustle and sway. Twigs snapped and cracked in all directions. Were there people in the forest or just forest animals?
Elrin glanced over the log and was shocked to find the bearded bounty hunter standing beside his hiding place. The man had his back to Elrin and was peering into the shadows cast by the moon, hooking his neck left and right at every call of the night birds in the forest. How did he get so close without making a sound? Elrin lowered his head behind the log and waited.
“Minni!” The bearded man’s voice boomed into the night.
His voice startled Elrin. It was so close now. Elrin kept still and breathed as little as possible. He didn’t dare lift his head to look.
“Let’s talk about this. We can make a deal.”
The bounty hunter’s guile went unanswered. Gentle footsteps pressed the forest floor, disturbing fallen leaves and brittle twigs. Birds called nearby.
“Just a little misunderstanding. A quarter’ll do.”
There was honking in the distance, accompanied by an owl hooting from further away.
The whiz of a bolt letting fly pierced the night, followed by a cry to arms. Duelling swords clashed. There was a thump on the forest floor.
The bearded man leapt over Elrin’s log. The young Calimskan sprang to his feet, drawing the dagger, expecting to face off against the man. Instead, he watched the bounty hunter flee deeper into the forest.
At once relieved and shocked, Elrin kept still; waiting, listening for footfalls. The woodland was quiet except for night birds calling, so he crept back in the direction he imagined the road would be, paranoid about the noise he made. The forest floor made such a racket, no matter the care he took with each slow step. He hadn’t gone far when he came across the body of one of the bounty hunters slumped over a log. Elrin spun around, ready for a trap, though nothing sprang from the shadows.
He knelt and touched the patch of darkness around the body; blood, thick and sticky. The bounty hunter must be dead. He threw a stick at the body just in case. The body didn’t move, so Elrin took a closer inspection. It was shameful for him to take from the departed, but at least he was dressed for the job in the herder disguise.
With great care Elrin rolled the man off the stump and onto his back. The dead man’s clothes were soiled with blood and entrails bulged from his side between a gap in the cuirass. His weapons had already been taken, so Elrin removed his pauldrons, bracers, and greaves. He examined how they were attached before trying them on. He had never had his own armour, but was taught to assist his father to dress with far more complex pieces than these.
The dim light of the moon and the blood made it difficult to manipulate the buckles and fixings. Most of the armour appeared in good condition. A strap was severed on the cuirass where the fatal blow had fallen, and the bounty hunter’s belt hung together by a sliver of leather. Elrin kept his cowl on, but removed his grey robes and laid them beside the dead body using them to wipe the blood off the armour before fitting himself with the serviceable pieces.
He bowed his head.
“Nathis, take this soul to shelter,” he said, remembering the simple words recited by herders when they collected the dead. Priest or not, it wouldn’t be right to take from the dead and not ask Nathis to herd him to his maker.
The armour was an imperfect fit, though it would suffice. Elrin searched for some money. A loose leather thong held a small pouch around his neck. Inside were small bones; Elrin shivered. Finger bones.
The young man wished for the gold, silver, silk and spice of Calimska; not that he had much of that pass into his own hands. Still, a copper tab or two in your pocket was better than a bag of body parts. He would have to get used to trading in bones and shell on the coast and remember there was no protection from dragons outside Calimska with the season closing in. There were a lot of things to get used to.
The remains of a bandolier lay to the side with a severed strap. Two pouches were empty, but the remaining pouch had an onion and two small rounds of hard cheese. Elrin wiped his hands on his vest and sunk his teeth into one of the rounds. It was salty, but he made short work of it, spitting out the rind as he ate. The remaining cheese and the onion were rationed into his satchel for later. Elrin didn’t like the idea of eating a raw onion, though it would be better than starving. It might be of use to a ship’s broth if he got passage.
As he covered the dead man with the grey robes a shiver coiled up his spine. All at once he felt as though he was being watched. He stared into the shadows, but saw no one. The feeling remained; eyes were there somewhere, watching. Elrin took off into the forest; he did not want to be dead beside the fallen bounty hunter. He jogged back towards the roadhouse, following the faint roll of distant conversation drifting out into the evening. Once he had the roadhouse in view, he skirted around the edge of the forest, remaining hidden.
It was getting late; the wagons he had arrived in were gone and the roadhouse was quieter than before. Elrin didn’t dare go inside to ask for a room. Someone would pick him for the bounty and he’d be hauled back to the Guildmaster before the morning sun rose. The young man had to get to Rum Hill without being discovered.
He pulled on his cowl and walked down the road heading east. It had to take him to the sea eventually, and from there the Hoard Islands awaited.
CHAPTER SIX
Uighara
The scaphoid on the blackstone rattled and a dim yellow glow radiated around the sacrificial bone. The redeemer placed his hands on the polished jet tablet, knowing who it would be. The fourth time today and less than half the day had past; it was a waste of a good carpal.
A delicate murmur whispered from the ether.
All the bone of Jando and he’ll sacrifice a distal phalanx to make reach; parsimonious old dotard. Shuffling in his seat, Uighara removed two metacarpals and sacrificed them on the blackstone, praying for a better connection.
“Almighty Lord, hear my call, take this generous offering and strengthen the reach of your humble servant’s devotion.”
The glow took to the additional bones and the voice of the High Priest pressed from the ether with a sudden, glaring clarity.
“Brother? Come on then, answer ... Make reach. Is this even working?”
Uighara grinned. The old fool could wait.
“I know you can hear me! I feel you there, damn you! Spit spat, I’ll have your head for a hat!”
“Your Grace, I apologise. Your voice was no
t clear. What say you about a cat?”
“I sense your levity. Mark the distance you travel from the Lord’s path, lest you lose your way. He is ever vigilant!”
“Yes, Your Grace, wise words from Oranica’s most sage. You will assuredly join Saint Jan and Saint Norin beside the Lord’s golden thro—”
“Enough of that now; your platitudes are not easily digested.”
“Of course, Your Grace. What do you require of me? I do not wish to waste your time.”
“That remains to be seen. Have you caught that sinful little man yet?”
“The pirate ship we have been tracking was not Kobb’s ship.”
“Don’t speak the name of that recalcitrant little whelp.”
“Your Grace, surely the greater mission is the capture and redemption of a more potent sinner.”
“I’ve given you everything you need to accomplish that, nothing in my power has been spared.”
“The armada, your Grace. How went your discussions with the Lord’s high admiral?”
“Very well indeed. Such a shrewd man. You could learn a tot or two from him.”
“So he’s agreed to send the Armada? Your sainthood is assured.”
“Not so.”
“That will be a problem. Did you not just order him? You are the Word of the Lord, he must obey.”
“There is no problem. I quite agree with him. As does the rest of the Council.”
“What? You ... I cannot bring you the greatest sacrifice without the armada. How else will you be blessed a saint! Calimska will forever be a thorn in the heel of the Lord, halting the march of redemption. Precipitous sin and sorcery lurk at our very doorstep. Only one thing can reform this land. We must strike at the heart of the evil. These wyrms behave as gods unto themselves, hoarding his treasure, corrupting his power. They forget the almighty creator!”
“Calm yourself, dear Brother.”
Uighara wiped his brow with his white silk sleeve. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
Dragon Choir Page 5
