+ + + + +
Rushing air whipped Chanté’s hair. It had grown long enough now that not only did the riding goggles keep his eyes from drying out in the wind, they also spared them a lashing from his hair. He wasn’t using the riding cap, though. He didn’t like wearing as many things as everyone else did. It just felt as if clothes weighed him down.
Enormous wings pounding, Nantli banked to the right to keep on their rioter patrol route. Below them, Stronghold spread for miles around.
I like this city a little more than Delcimaar.
Me, too, lovely. It has more diversity.
Their various patrols took him and the other dragonlinked to several villages, towns, and cities across the continent. Stronghold was his favorite of them all. The buildings here weren’t all perfectly maintained. There were even places where he’d seen a few leaning slightly. The streets, too, weren’t all laid out as if with a straight-edge. Some grew so narrow in places that a horse and a person could not travel along them side by side. Caer Baronel, Delcimaar, and a few others, on the other hand, were almost geometric in their layout and structure. While that was beautiful, chaos, too, held a great deal of charm. Stronghold had aspects of both perfection and imperfection, and he found he liked the combination.
Anyone thinking of inciting riots?
I have not sensed any thoughts like that.
Ahead, a tall building rose above the others near it. In the center of a courtyard, it rose in narrowing tiers to perhaps ten stories. It appeared sturdy enough, and its top would provide a nice view all around. Can we take a short break on top of that building?
That is a good idea. City patrols are a little more tiring than those in the countryside.
They’d been on the patrol for an hour and he could feel the beginnings of fatigue in her wing muscles. It wasn’t enough to worry him, but they had plenty of time so why not have a brief rest.
Nantli flew them up and then prepared to set down near a corner. He felt her concentration as she landed, ready to take them back into the air should the roof prove insufficiently strong. After a couple of tentative steps around, she turned to face the city and lay down. The parapet was only two feet high, so it did not block the spectacular vista.
Chanté slid the riding goggles up and looked out over Stronghold. The view is nice up here, isn’t it?
That it is.
He wondered what Quillan would think of it, then recalled the young man’s fear of heights. Leaning to the side a bit, Chanté glanced beyond Nantli and the building to the ground down below.
People walked on the sidewalks and carriages made their way along the streets. Moving along down there, they looked almost like toys. Intellectually, he knew the distance wasn’t that great, just over a hundred feet or so, but seeing it was a different matter. Falling to the ground from this high would be . . . less than satisfactory. While the pain upon impact would probably be brief, it would still be incredibly horrible. You’d also have all that time as you fell to think about your rapidly approaching fate.
Heart beating faster, he gripped the handholds on the saddle a little tighter. Perhaps those who were afraid of heights were onto something.
I would never let you fall to the ground.
I don’t think I’ve fully appreciated that, or you, before. With a grimace and one last glimpse down, he sat back up on the saddle. I’m glad you’re with me.
I am happy, too.
He reached down and patted her neck, then swept his gaze across the cityscape.
Sunlight glinted off a glass-paneled dome on a nearby building. A breeze shifted the canopies of trees in a park, moving them like waves on the surface of a lake. Above, a hawk soared, and when its shadow passed over a flock of birds, they lifted from a rooftop and flew away.
Chanté smiled. Sharing this view with Nantli was nearly perfect. Happy, he watched Stronghold, listening to its sounds rising from the streets below.
Once Nantli was rested, they resumed their patrol of the enormous city.
She faced forward most of the time, but now and again, she’d look down. Many of those people standing on boxes think the same thing.
He spotted a man below, standing on a small crate. Before Nantli’s flight took them too far, he was able to see that there was a small crowd standing around the man. What is it they think?
They wish to see how angry they can make the people feel about a woman.
Ah, yes. High Lady Hasana. He frowned. None of them are trying to incite another riot, are they?
I would tell you if they were.
He chuckled. Of course.
Nantli banked to the east at the next cross-street and followed it toward the large river in the distance. The enormous watercourse was the end of the patrol route. They could head back to the Guildhall after.
It had taken him some time to learn the gateway destinations. Though, to be honest, he still had to refer to his destination sketches for a few. These riot patrols had been even more difficult to memorize, despite the maps given them. There were such a great number of routes! Nantli, on the other hand, had absolutely no issues learning them. Once they had actually started flying the routes, saw the actual streets, roads, and buildings, it had been easier for him to remember them.
Zolin and Jessip are ahead of us.
He glanced toward the far river, but she probably hadn’t seen them, she’d likely sensed them. They are? I wonder what they’re doing here.
After a moment, she said, According to Zolin, they are practicing for the dragon show.
I see.
She turned to stare at him with her right eye. I could never determine why you were reluctant for us to be part of the show.
He frowned. I felt like such an outsider. I didn’t want to force myself into their celebration. And, too, I wasn’t really sure how to act around them, around people, humans.
She turned back forward. Do you still feel like an outsider?
He twisted his lips. Wouldn’t he always be an outsider? Still . . . Not as much, no. Everyone has been very nice.
Some even more than others.
A certain smiling face came to him. That and the humor he felt from her made him smile. I suppose so.
Nantli slowed and then stopped at the side of the enormous river, wings pounding as she hovered. They’d reached the end of their route, having found no suspicious people.
He scanned north and south along the waterway. Where are Jessip and Zolin? I don’t see them anywhere.
They are much higher. I will take us to them.
He looked up at the sky. Oh, okay.
A glance at the altimeter on his wrist revealed that they were about three hundred feet in the air when Nantli brought them alongside Zolin. As they flew beside them, the large, black dragon turned and let out a happy bark.
Jessip raised an arm. “Ho, there!”
It wasn’t visible at the moment under the riding cap, but the young man’s deep red hair had made Chanté feel a bit of kinship with him. Had Jessip needed to contend with people staring at him because of his hair?
Chanté waved back and yelled, “What are you doing?”
Though not wearing riding masks, they still had to yell to be heard over the rushing air.
“Watch this!” Jessip stood in the stirrups.
To Chanté’s shock, Jessip then began to climb up and then stand on the saddle. A quick glimpse down revealed the river looking only a bit smaller than before. Even though it was water, how much damage would one incur falling into the river from this height?
He looked back at Jessip. The young man, arms held out for balance, was not wearing safety straps. Chanté’s heart began to pound. He yelled, “Are you mad?”
Now!
Zolin rolled over and glided on, upside down.
Chanté gasped. It felt as if his heart had leapt from his chest. “Jessip!”
Nantli, too, let out a surprised bark.
Laughter, barely heard over the rush of air, was all the response the
y got.
Take us lower so I can see what that jackass is doing!
Nantli growled and angled them down.
Jessip, arms still held out to the side, was . . . stuck to the saddle.
“How?” Chanté couldn’t think of anything else to yell.
“I used bind to attach my boots to the saddle!”
“You ass! You scared the life out of me!”
“Perfect!”
Zolin rolled back over and Nantli took them up.
Chanté glared at Jessip. The effect was likely lost behind goggles, but he did so anyway. “Does Renata know about this trick?”
He nodded. “She does. And she was even more pissed than you were when I first showed it to her.” A pulse of magic came from him and he began to climb down into the saddle. “The secret is to keep your legs stiff. Oh, and tie your boots on very tightly.”
Jessip was about to place his foot into the stirrup when a cross-wind buffeted them and he slipped off the saddle and began a three hundred foot fall toward the river below.
Chanté stared down. “Jessip!”
Zolin let out a roar and dove.
Nantli was on his tail not a second later.
Wings pulled in, Zolin plunged toward the river after Jessip.
Chanté gripped the handholds tightly as Nantli gave chase.
They were not catching up.
Nantli let out a bark. Jessip! Lie flat with your arms and legs spread! Catch as much air as you can to slow your fall!
Of course! You are a genius, lovely.
He felt her rumble through the saddle.
When Jessip did so, his fall slowed so much that the two dragons had to swerve to avoid hitting him as they shot past.
Damn it! Chanté looked up.
It is fine.
The dragons opened their wings slightly, slowing their own falls, and rose up to again match speed with Jessip.
Zolin roared and Jessip flipped over so he was face down.
Chanté glanced at the river below, then at his altimeter. They’d already dropped nearly half the distance to the ground. Hurry!
The flesh of Jessip’s face was pressed and stretched by the air rushing past.
Zolin adjusted his position so he was directly under Jessip, who tried to grab the saddle.
Jessip reached and missed, hand grasping nothing. He reached again and missed once more, fingertips brushing the handhold.
With a frustrated yell, Jessip brought his left arm against his body. It increased his fall enough, allowing him to grab on. He pulled himself down, grabbed the other handhold, and levered his lower half onto the saddle.
Once Jessip was seated, Zolin spread his wings a bit wider and angled them out of their precipitous fall.
Nantli followed them into the angled glide.
Chanté looked down. So close! The altimeter showed less than a hundred feet.
He turned to Jessip. “That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen! Why aren’t you wearing safety straps?”
Jessip said something, but it was lost to the wind.
Chanté leaned over in the saddle. “What?”
“They’re too short!” Jessip at least sounded chastised.
“Then wear two sets! One short and one long! Unstrap the short ones, but leave the long ones on for the damn trick!”
Jessip nodded. “I will certainly do so from now on.”
Nantli barked. We should all get back to the Guildhall.
Chanté, not trusting Jessip’s concentration after nearly plunging to his death, opened the portal himself.
Once they were all through, he closed the portal. Nantli began a banked glide down to the Guildhall.
Jessip was very scared and felt ashamed. He has learned his lesson, I think.
Good! Performing that trick without safety straps, regardless of the river, was just plain foolish.
Indeed, it was.
Chanté finally noticed where Nantli was flying. Why are you following to their rooms?
Xochi says Renata wants me to.
Hmm?
Zolin set down by the entrance to the den, and Nantli landed near the end of the ledge.
Jessip hopped to the ground and stood there, fidgeting. Xochi was sitting on her haunches in the opening to the den, eyes on Zolin. She let out occasional quiet barks. They were not happy barks.
Renata stepped onto the patio from the bedroom and then stomped her way over to Nantli. She looked up at Chanté. “Could you dismount, please?”
Zolin must have told Xochi or her about what happened. Was she upset that a complete outsider had yelled at Jessip?
She is angry, but not at you.
Chanté nodded. He unstrapped and hopped to the ground, girding himself for Renata’s anger in case Nantli had been wrong.
Renata jumped at him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you.”
Eyes wide, he said, “F–For what?”
After a moment, Renata released him. “For caring enough about that idiot to yell at him like I would have.” She spun to face Jessip. “And you are an idiot!”
Jessip looked at the ground and nodded.
Hands on her hips, Renata continued. “Chanté is absolutely right. Why did you attempt that trick without the long straps?”
“I just thought that with the river there—”
“Think better!”
Were those tears glimmering in her eyes? Glancing from her to Jessip and back, Chanté felt highly uncomfortable.
“I’m already scared that those gods-damned nahual will be the end of one of us. I don’t need you giving me more to worry about.”
“I know.” Jessip looked up. “I’m sorry.”
Renata closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to Chanté. “Thank you, again.”
Unsure what to do, he just nodded.
Renata walked quickly to Jessip and threw her arms around him. “Jackass. Unsaddle Zolin and come inside.” She let him go and walked into the bedroom.
After a chirp, Xochi turned and disappeared into the den.
Jessip let out a deep sigh and looked at Chanté. He lifted a hand in farewell before leading Zolin into the den.
Chanté wasn’t sure what to make of all that had just happened.
When you care deeply about someone, the idea that they might get hurt or even die is frightening.
He glanced at Nantli. If she were to die, he’d feel terrible. The idea that she wouldn’t be with him anymore, wouldn’t be able to speak with him like this anymore, wouldn’t be there to laugh at him, to nudge his forehead with her nose, to—
He shook his head, dispelling the runaway thoughts and dark emotions. After taking a deep breath, he let it out. Alright, I can definitely understand the fear, but Renata seemed angry, not scared.
It is as she said. She is upset at Jessip for scaring her so badly.
He grunted. Love. Emotions. They’re all so complicated.
Nantli tilted her head. They are and they are not.
Chanté frowned. The feeling he got from her meant that she was likely not going to elaborate further. No matter. He was hungry and it was just about time for lunch, anyway. They needed to get to his rooms so he could change.
He climbed up into the saddle. Let’s go.
+ + + + +
Sweat tickled Fala’s scalp and ran down her face. She couldn’t do this at night when it was cooler, however. The light from the fire might be seen from afar, drawing unwanted attention. It would be safer to do the distillation outside, too. But she’d chosen this cave because it had a natural chimney in the ceiling where smoke and vapors got pulled out with the rising heat of the fire. They exited safely some three dozen feet to the west. Still, even though air was being pulled in from the cave entrance, the radiant heat of the fire was brutal in the small room.
It wasn’t just the temperature of the cave that made her sweat. Incredible care had to be taken with this liquid. Even the tiniest splash would end her life.
She watched
a carnelian-red droplet as it gradually grew larger at the bottom of the tube. When big enough, it released and fell into the mouth of the oiled wine skin. Drop by slow drop, her plan was progressing.
Unfortunately, the distillation process could not be rushed. Yrdra’s Blood was sensitive to heat, so she had to maintain the fire hot enough to keep the pot at a simmer but not so hot as to overheat the rest of the equipment. It was a tetchy process.
With today’s last drop, she stoppered the skin tightly and carefully set it aside. With equal care, she detached the condenser tubes from the neck and hung them next to the pot, over the fire. The still now ready, she tossed the gloves she’d been wearing into the fire. They were likely contaminated and needed to burn, too. She then added more wood to scorch everything, to cleanse it all of any remaining traces of Yrdra’s Blood. She’d clean the remains of the herbs and ingredients out of the pot later, after the fire died down and it could be moved.
She stepped back and sat by the passage to wait. Flames licked over the still in mesmerizing patterns. Whenever a branch popped, sparks rose amid the smoke to the ceiling. Fala watched and sweated, silently.
Her abandonment was nearly complete. Only Jaci, Stoltz, and Kwatoko remained. How utterly pathetic. And Yiska had been the first.
Jaws clenching, hands in tight fists, she had to close her eyes and breathe slowly for a few seconds.
Taking one more deep breath, she released it.
They’d all left her, but no matter. Her new plan would be ready, soon. Another distillation and she’d have enough. Then she could make one last use of the gutless Kwatoko. He’d help her deliver the gift to the dragon-lovers.
Chapter 17
Duviday, Diamy 14, 1875.
Morning.
“Careful!” Quillan ran over to the men moving the crate. “That crate is much more delicate than the others. Please be especially watchful of those marked with this glyph.” He tapped the symbol painted on the side which meant ‘handle with care.’
“Of course.” The man nodded, and with the assistance of the other, walked the crate to the spot Quillan had indicated it should go.
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 51
