by Lisa Daniels
Anyway. He let the heat stir up inside him until every part of him burned. With a sound like bursting popcorn, his dragon form erupted out of him, spreading twenty-foot-long red wings on either side with relief. Hybrids made for much smaller dragons in their full forms. Traditionalists, the ones who had never mixed their blood with humans, sometimes grew to thirty feet tall. Zaine padded now on the ground, fifteen feet high, sinewy and lithe, more like an oversized cat.
Enhanced vision speckled him with all the life forms within the area. Colors swirled, and scents were refined through his strong olfactory senses. Reaching the edge of the path, Zaine swooped himself off the cliff, diving to a fatal drop three hundred feet below, before snapping his wings out and curving through the narrow gorge at an angle. Avoiding the risk of being seen by the dragon slayer. Cutting through the gorge, the tip of his right wing skimming the deep waters, tail swatting bank pebbles aside, he flew with the throb of freedom only flight gave him, and settled himself, a few minutes later, near the cave of the traditionalist. Transforming back into human form, he found a good hiding spot, and settled to watch.
They needed to kill the trad. Nothing else for it. Burning the farms, killing the humans—sure way to bring more death and destruction to his people in the end, who were nearest the Iron Reach.
About an hour later, Mia prowled into view.
Beautiful, Zaine thought from his spot, concealed in the rocks and bushes from above. One tree hung on the lip of a small overhang nearby the cave, and Zaine lay flat on his belly to observe. Not for the beauty of her features, but for the beauty of her movement. Of someone capable of action.
Someone, if her powers were what had been claimed, who could kill the fire in his heart, the heat in his throat. She'd probably attempt a silent assassination. No need to risk her life in an extended fight.
She crept into the cave.
A moment later, a bellowing scream resounded, and he saw Mia dash out, fast as a falcon, sliding across the ground as if it were made of ice. In fact, Zaine noticed, the ground changed color where she touched it. She continued that crazy slide, even as flames belched out of the cave, and the trad stumbled out, orange eyes crusted and crazed, yellowed teeth snapping. At least twice Zaine's height. What a beast. All scintillating green scale, with claws scratching new marks into the worn down stone.
The iceblood continued her movement, her staff clutched tight in her left arm, with the sapphire glowing like a beacon of light. She reached the cliff, and instead of stopping at it, abruptly changed direction, now sliding up the cliff as if it was just a normal floor, not a sheer rock face. The trad spat flames after her, but she may as well have been a fly, impossible to swat. Finally, the dragon aimed true, the gout of fire splashing directly on the magician. For a moment, Zaine wondered if this was it.
A second later, Mia catapulted herself through the air, completely unaffected by the flames. The trad dragon, already running low on flames and energy, stepped backwards in alarm at this tiny human launching herself towards him, staff glowing in her hand. The staff was pointed in his direction. The light flickered, then a huge blast of neon-blue energy left the staff, cutting straight through the dragon.
That takes a while to charge up, Zaine thought, eyes agape at the sight. So she was simply killing time while her staff collected her energy. The trad dragon swayed on the spot, though he was already dead. A huge, smoking, cauterized hole had cut through his chest, directly where the heart lay.
Mia had been flung back by the recoil of her staff, but slid down the cliff she'd hit without so much as a whimper. Ice skating on all the surfaces. Mia slid to the dragon, who had now collapsed onto the ground with a thud. Her cloak fluttered behind her in the stirring of wind. Even from this distance, Zaine saw her chest rise up and down. Though she seemed so calm, it was likely that she was running low on energy. Mia now fished inside her pocket, taking out a fine, serrated blade. Zaine didn't want to watch the next part. It sent a horrible, hateful sensation inside his bones, so intense that it burned the soul. Yes, she'd been asked by her current employers to bring back the horns. And the trad had five wicked horns curving from his head.
He wondered if she knew how much those horns sold for on the black market. Zaine backed away, stomach churning, guts twisting, and headed off again to the gorge. Although he planned on hiring her and snatching her from the jaws of her employer, he wondered.
Could I beat her? Or would she kill me like that trad? Slick like ice, a bolt of blue through my heart? He liked to think he was smart enough to avoid an obvious attack like that. Smart enough not to waste his energy breathing fire at someone immune to its properties. The problem was, dragons didn't expect much resistance from humans. They always underestimated them. Even as they invented better and better ways to kill things, build cities, and design modes of transport across steel tracks and bodies of water. He'd even seen hot air balloons. Humans used heat to raise a balloon in the air, slowly claiming the skies that dragons owned.
He morphed into his dragon form and soared elegantly through the gorge, always taking the time to clip the water at least once with his wings. One thing to know about those dragon slayers, those icebloods. Another thing to see them in action. How she never hesitated. How she'd just killed that dragon without so much as an eyeblink. No remorse. Dangerous for him to be fascinated by her.
Yet, how could he not be?
Not like the dragons had anything better to do nowadays than to consort with danger.
It didn't take him long to reach the Ark Sector and morph back into his human form. A few more contacts to sort within the city itself, and a few on the outskirts. People always underestimated the poor. The rich of society ignored them, but with the right kind of investments... poor people knew how to be resourceful. To manage what they had. People covered in soot and ash, walking around the streets with masks stuffed with fragrances to ward off the worst of the smells, such as the burning coals, the dung of horses, and the bloated downstream rivers, they also knew exactly the best spots to hide, and where beauty lay.
At least, that was what he tried to explain to the rest of his city.
Didn't take long for Zaine to make it to his hotel, under the blossoming aura of dusk. Classed as one star, little more than a lopsided shack with rooms, but it fit in with the kind of surreptitious people he dealt with. All the while, Zaine thought about his new find. That iceblood. Such power. It sent shivers, both of fear and of delight, through him. Imagine bending someone like that to his will. Imagine having her on his leash, ready to dole out destruction in the direction he pointed.
Looks like the gaslight's down again, Zaine thought, seeing no power in the lamps. Instead, plain white wax candles adorned the tables and along the counter. He made out the sign Two bronze quarterlings for one night. One bronze byte for a meal. Ask for details on our menu, or see what's on the blackboard.
Nothing displayed on the blackboard except smudges.
“You seem mighty happy about something, dragon,” a voice slithered out of the gloom. Zaine's attention turned to a rather fat man, more chins than face, with a neat white shirt that had burst two buttons. His piggy little eyes fixated on Zaine, and Zaine forced a smile.
“Didn't think you'd still be up, Ricken.” Zaine called for hot chocolate, preferring to keep his head clear. “Thought you'd be slobbering over some woman or another.”
“Please,” Ricken said, now delicately wiping his black jacket sleeve, where he had spilt candle wax onto it. “I know what you think of me, but I ain't that bad. We had a meeting three hours ago. One that you didn't turn up for.”
Ah, Zaine thought. “My apologies. I was, ah... caught in something.”
“Is that so?” Ricken had one of those hoarse, gravelly voices, as if his mouth was stuffed with shrapnel. “Well, seeing as you're the one who wants information on Gorchev, and there's me, sitting out here, waiting for your ungrateful behind, instead of—how did you put it?—slobbering over some woman or another... I'd say
you're payin' extra for this.”
“Well, well,” Zaine said. “The pig can talk. And it wants money. What a surprise.” He grinned, however, and clasped hands with Ricken, who smiled underneath his layers of fat. Zaine did pay him a little extra, anyway.
“Check this out,” Ricken said, his smile now greasy. “Gorchev's been spending more than he's been earning recently with his coal mine exploits, his eastern factories. Trying to please too many people, so he's been dipping his fingers into the traditional medicine trade.”
Zaine's lips thinned at the statement. “Not news to me so far. We already know he's selling dragon body parts. Humans and their backward ways...”
“It's more than just that. He's claiming in recent days that he's able to save costs on coal fuel and human labor. His newest factory is closed off to regular employees. But as far as we're aware... the new labor in that factory is slaves. Dragon slaves, to be precise,” Ricken said, causing Zaine's hairs to stand up on end.
“Is this fool trying to ignite a war between dragons and humans?” Zaine rubbed his head, frustrated. “It's already fraught enough. My tribe are bending over backwards to try and keep relations marginal. We liaise with the trads, we try to persuade the local constabulary that we're not going to threaten the peace...”
“S'always about money.” Ricken creaked off his chair, shaking hands with him again. “We'll look more into it, course. And we think we've found an iceblood you might be interested in. He's currently being approached by Gorchev. Gotta act fast if you want them.”
“Sure,” Zaine said, now thinking about Mia.
He knew where to send her, if he managed to recruit successfully.
Straight into that factory.
Chapter Three – Mia
Dumping the horns on Gorchev's desk, Mia folded her arms. Waiting for her boss to approve. The man picked each horn out, and the evident greed in his eyes made her think she probably should have held one back. Obviously he sold them. This wasn't just a routine proof of death. He wanted the horns for profit.
She knew all that. She just didn't care.
Flames crackled in her mind's eye, along with the scent of singed hair, and burnt meat, similar to pork. Shouldn't have smelled so familiar. Not when human flesh burned. Mia's throat tightened, and she dug her nails into her right palm. Over the scar.
“Excellent work, my killer,” Gorchev said, tucking the horns away. “It really is exceptional how you're able to fight against such hideous beasts. Come back to me in a week. My trackers might find another job for you.” He carelessly tossed a bag of coins to Mia, and she took them, resisting the urge to check. Her employer could find offense at the smallest provocation. His wide face split into a smile. His circular glasses winked in the light. He reminded Mia of a toad, with the way those lips stretched, almost unnaturally wide. Gorchev Kant, a prominent man who owned most of the factories in the eastern sector, controlling a good chunk of the coal and oil industries. He currently employed others to try and sabotage his rivals. A horrible man. But better to be paid by him than squashed by him.
“Thanks. I'll see you then.” Mia nodded and began to walk slowly out. Sometimes, Gorchev had something to add. No sooner had she reached the wrought iron door, when his voice slithered out from the gaslit desk.
“What does it feel like, killing those beasts? Collecting their teeth? Good, no?” The triumph of a hunter infused his voice. She knew Gorchev did shooting as a hobby. Using crossbows, and those new-fangled guns with their single lead balls. Loading and shooting an arrow was much faster, though. He held a fancy collection of stuffed animal heads in his mansion, which Mia had the chance to look at just once. He asked the taxidermist to make sure each of them had contorted visages, displaying fear. Unseemly to Mia's eyes. Gave her an uneasy, bad impression of the man she now worked for.
“Nothing,” Mia said. “It's just a job to me.” Sure, she might feel the thrill of using her magic, but he didn't need to know that.
“Oh,” he said, slightly disappointed. “Well, I suppose when it's that easy to you, it would, wouldn't it?” Couldn't mistake that envy in his voice now. Wanting the power she had.
Leaving the room, walking down the stairs, she spotted two people she intensely disliked, also in Gorchev's employ. Jason and Sanders.
Both those men loathed her. Saw her powers as an affront to the natural order of things. Indeed, as she passed, Jason couldn't help but check her out, before growling, “How much does the boss pay to fuck you?” He had one of those irritating, nasal voices. As if his mouth was stuffed full of wool.
Nostrils flaring, Mia held back her tongue. Words didn't matter to men like these. Any words from her just added to their long list of excuses as to why she didn't deserve her powers. Her mother would disapprove of this use. Then again, her mother disapproved of everything.
“I bet she does it on the desk,” Sanders said, his voice hoarse. She saw him lick his lips. “Spreads her legs nice and wide, tits bouncing on the table... faking her powers.”
I'd like to freeze their cocks off, Mia thought savagely. The notion became so tempting that her hands half twitched. Just focus all her power into her staff, keep walking... turn it on them.
“Come back! We're not done talking to you!”
She hastened out of the door before thoughts became reality, checking to make sure she wasn't followed. The uneasy feeling in her chest subsided, and her thoughts flicked to Zaine for a moment. The man who wanted to hire her. Would he be in the city now? She visited the Steamcog daily. Didn't know how to cook, but the chefs there knew how to prepare delicious, simple meals. Plus she liked the atmosphere of the place, fully embracing the culture of the city, made out of a mixture of polished wood, bronze and iron. Her shack of a house lay in the same street, too. Enough to sleep in, piss in, eat from the tiny gas stove if needed, or fish in a crate for her clothes. They called them coffin homes, but Mia didn't need anything more than a place to sleep.
After all, she had the world at her feet. Outside, she fished in her pocket for her surgical mask, tied it at the back, and walked into the smog-choked streets, where smoke belched from the numerous factories that adorned the scenery, obscuring the poorer sector, where most of the factory workers lived. Not uncommon to see someone missing a limb here, especially from woodworking and steel factories, or lead poisoning from those who forged weapons and bullets. Did Zaine live in the city? Looked too neat, too tidy to dwell in a grubby slum like this. He probably belonged to the wealthier northern sector, where the nobility lay. The king, of course, kept himself locked in a glittering palace of marble and stone, and kept to himself these days. Rumors about an ill daughter, a mad wife. Who knew which rumors held truth?
Fifteen minutes later, avoiding the carriages or the freshly set up tram line—always too crowded, and thieves liked to use the trams—Mia swept into the Steamcog, just as a group of buskers, wielding an accordion, violin, and drum between them, struck up a jaunty tune.
“Hello,” came a familiar growl. Mia's eyes roved over the homely establishment, settling on Zaine, who sat in the corner. Her corner, on a plush velvet purple armchair. “Quite a nice place, this. Brilliant food.” A sauce-stained plate adorned the table in front of him.
“Already? I didn't think you'd be that fast,” Mia said, incredulous and amused at the same time. Why was there a smile tugging at her lips? She'd just been thinking of him, and then... here. She took off the mask, which had condensed with sweat, and strode over to him. Again, she had that odd sensation in his presence, like there was something not quite right about him.
“What can I say? I'm eager to hire you. I've been wanting to get my hands on something with your precocious talents for a while. And... I hear you didn't have much trouble with that dragon. No bruises? Singed skin? Nothing?”
“Might have knocked my elbow somewhere.” A fine, purple-yellow bruise had formed on Mia's left arm. “Would love to talk business, but I'm hungry.”
Zaine grinned, not offended
. Something about that grin did something funny to Mia. The unease also became a tightness in her chest, her stomach. What a smile. Gorchev had one of those twisted leers, always accompanied by a glint in his eyes, consumed by the greed of new profits. Zaine, however, gave her the impression of, well... lightness. A brevity, a genuine curl of lips that suggested no ill intent. It made Mia even more uneasy, as she ordered her usual dish. Everyone always had something. Something they didn't want to admit, something they wanted to hide.
Must be careful. Perhaps he's better at hiding it than most.
As Mia tore into her meatballs and mash, Zaine inspected her, poking polite conversation in which she answered between mouthfuls. Yes, she lived in the city. No parents but had some rich uncle somewhere. Probably was in the area, but she had no idea where. She was grateful that Zaine chose not to inquire too closely into the parent issue. Normally she dealt with it okay, but sometimes, it became harder to think about than usual. And judging by the odd knot in her chest, this might be one of those times.
Smoke. Blackened lungs, wheezing for pure air, eyes watering.
Tightening her grip on the fork, Mia finished off the food. “Take it you live in the city, too?”
“I have accommodation here,” Zaine said. “I'm in Greenview Avenue.”
Mia twitched an eyebrow. “You an aristocrat or something, then?” Recalling how the taverners had addressed Zaine in the Western Reaches, she added, “The people in that inn sure seemed to know you. You cut them off before they could ruin it.”
“Hmm. I'm less eager to spill my identity in the city, and with a notorious slayer until I'm sure I have such a person in my employ. I'm sure you understand.” His blue eyes strayed to her staff for a moment. “The task I want for you is of a spy nature, but may or may not require you to handle a dragon. Or two.”
“A dragon or two.” Mia shook her head, amused. The magic in her stirred in excitement at the idea of a challenge. Of being pushed to the limits, like before, when it sang in her blood, frosted her over so she could glide across the terrain like over a frozen lake. Sometimes she wanted to glide over the city, but too many eyes were out there. Too many potential enemies. “I like how casually you say that.”
