Blood Oath

by Raye Wagner

  Arnik leaned forward and whispered, “All this talk of Cal . . . Don’t you want to see him? Do you really believe we can overthrow the entire kingdom because of one man?” He sounded doubtful. “The king has Lord Irrik, after all, and Cal is no Drae.”

  There was only one Drae in Verald, so that was obvious. I shivered. Talk of Lord Irrik gave me the willies. “Be careful walking back,” I said, glancing at the beautiful, silky night. “You heard Dyter. The Drae has been spotted in the skies.”

  “Do you think he’ll incapacitate me with his magic breath and chew on my bones?” Arnik asked.

  I snorted and shoved him out the door, but cold terror shot through me at the line from our mothers’ stories. If the Drae was flying in the dark sky, Arnik wouldn’t even see him until it was too late. Drae could shift from dragon to man, or vice-versa, in the blink of an eye.

  Arnik took a few steps and turned back, hands shoved in his pockets. “I won’t bring any more friends, but tell Dyter to stop being an old fool,” he said, oblivious to my fear of the Drae. “We need all the help we can get for the rebellion, even if it is from the third son of Tal.”

  I had no desire to do dishes for the rest of my life, so I’d say nothing of the sort. I was getting tired of being stuck in the middle of these two. With a sigh, I shook my head at my friend.

  A small, half smile pulled at his lips as he took the few steps back. Placing his hand against my cheek, he said, “I’m sorry, Rynnie.”

  His skin was warm, and although the gesture was foreign to our friendship, there was comfort in Arnik’s touch.

  “I shouldn’t put you between us,” he murmured. Without waiting for a response, he gave me a boyish wink and slipped into the laneway, his dark clothing blending with the thick shadows from the neighboring stone buildings. His golden hair reflected the moonlight, a beacon for only a second before he pulled his dark hood up, covering his head.

  I’d heard Lord Irrik could hear a person exhale from a mile away and could see the warmth within a human body when all sunlight was gone. It was unlikely a cap would help, but it made me feel a little better.

  I tossed my rag over my shoulder and went back inside.

  Dyter had made quick work of the cleanup. The bench seats were all stacked. I suspected the tables hadn’t been wiped. They’d be sticky by morning from the ale and stew, but I couldn’t lift the benches myself, and Dyter wouldn’t shift them a second time tonight. I’d just have to wipe the spots I could get to. Teamwork at its finest.

  Dyter pushed through the swinging door with a mop and a pail. He grinned, and the scar on the left side of his face pulled his upper lip higher so he looked like he was snarling maniacally. “How worked up was the lad?” he asked with a chuckle. “Truthfully.”

  I scrubbed at the wood smoothed from generations of elbows and sliding tankards. “You always stir him up and leave me to deal with it.”

  I stomped past him to the next table, but he laughed, and I had to work to hide my amusement. I’d known Dyter longer than Arnik, as far back as my memory went. The tavern owner was part father, part uncle, and part friend. He’d helped Mum settle in when she’d arrived in Verald—when I was a baby—and he’d been close to us ever since.

  We cleaned the bar area in silence, the familiar companionship its own brand of communication. But the meeting tonight was still a burning mystery to me, and when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, I asked, “How did it go?”

  Sure enough, he grinned his lip-pulling snarl. “How did what go?”

  I threw my rag at his face.

  He gave mercy, tossing me the soiled cloth back. “Oh, the rebel meeting? It went well.” He paused before amending with, “Very well. Now is the time to overthrow King Irdelron and the House of Ir. I feel it. The king is desperate to find something to end the famine, and it weakens him.”

  “He cares about ending the hunger?” Contradictory, considering his brutality.

  “He cares about staying alive and keeping his arse on the throne, Ryn. There are many things you can do to people without them rebelling, but starving them isn’t on the list. As cruel and rich as King Irdelron is, he’s not an idiot. The situation is nearing a boiling point. More people have joined our cause in the last three months than the last three years.”

  I thought about the last few months as I scrubbed at the sticky ale. Nothing seemed different. People were starving now, just like they had been last year and the year before that. “How do you know he’s desperate?”

  “You haven’t noticed the extra soldiers?” Dyter stopped his cleaning to raise his brows. “What about the extra beatings?”

  I shook my head, averting my gaze. I wasn’t really into the rebellion, but I should’ve noticed extra beatings.

  Dyter pursed his lips and leveled me with a serious stare. “What about the giant black Drae circling the skies?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course.” Only, I hadn’t. Mild anxiety pushed the next question from my lips. As much as I liked to tease about Dyter being an old coot, he was like family. “In that case,” I continued, “are you sure you should be having rebel meetings here?”

  Dyter shrugged. “People meet up here on a day-to-day basis. To the outsider, there’s nothing amiss.” His face darkened. “As long as Arnik stops bringing pups in.”

  But there was truth in Arnik’s argument, too. “You need the pups, old man. They have young bodies that can fight.”

  Dyter gave a grudging nod.

  I hated upsetting him. “But they can’t do without the experience and wisdom of you oldies.” I smiled as he puffed his chest out a bit. “So,” I continued, sliding my gaze his way, “are you excited to meet Cal?”

  Dyter let out a belly laugh that spread to every faded and worn part of the tavern. “You saw the boy by the door. I thought he was going to wet himself with excitement.”

  I joined him in laughter. “I thought he’d faint from the mere mention of Cal’s name.” I wasn’t about to admit I’d shovel horse plop for three hours straight to be able to meet the leader of the rebellion. Now, that would be exciting. More excitement than I’d had since the Tals’ donkey escaped their stable and went on a bender about town, kicking the stalls in the market over—I wanted to let it out again.

  When the last glass was put away, Dyter held his hand out for my washrag. “You stayin’ the night?”

  I had a room upstairs, something Mum had insisted on when I started working at The Crane’s Nest. Curfew was strict here, and the penalties if caught depended on the soldier’s mood at the time. Over the last year, I’d felt a deep pull to be outside in the darkness, and Dyter’s thatched roof didn’t have a window I could see the night sky from.

  Dyter knew I didn’t sleep well here, so he never pushed.

  “Mum is expecting me. She might already be pacing the floor.” The last was said in jest as we both knew she wouldn’t be. Ryhl didn’t get anxious. She either did something or she didn’t, but she didn’t waste energy on worrying.

  “Al’right then. Best scoot out. Be careful, my girl.”

  There was a real strain in his voice on the last four words. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek because I knew he secretly loved it even though he always waved me away. I grabbed a piece of brak to nibble on the way home and waved goodbye, stepping out into the moonlight.

  “Oh,” Dyter called.

  I swung around to look at him, mouth stuffed with brak.

  He came to the door, his lip lifted in his gruesome smile. “You’ll want to be here tomorrow night.”

  My heart hammered. What? “Why? Will he be here?” I spoke around the food, spitting some on the ground. If Cal came, I’d probably die of excitement.

  Dyter grinned and slammed the door in my face. I listened as he retreated into the depths of the tavern, chuckling at his hilarious wit.

  I stared at the solid wooden door. He wouldn’t have said anything if Cal wasn’t coming here, would he? My gut told me no. Holy pancakes! A squeal built inside
of me, but I opted instead to punch-dance on the spot.

  The rebel leader was coming tomorrow night.

  Beaming, I faced toward home and stepped into the caress of the dark shadows.

  3

  In the old tales, Verald was the jewel kingdom within the Draecon Empire. Known for its fertile fields, the inhabitants of Verald produced the agriculture for the two other kingdoms in Emperor Draedyn’s realm. But Verald’s fertile fields were myths, like the legends of the Phaetyn, who could heal anything living. If there ever was truth to either story, it was long gone now.

  Each household in the Penny Wheel, the slums of Verald, was allowed a small piece of dirt, a garden of their own, to do with as they wished. Ours did particularly well. Mum’d sit outside and talk to the plants after I’d pulled weeds or watered the garden or shifted dirt to new spots like I was born for it. Somehow, she coaxed the plants to grow with a wildness that could’ve made the neighbors jealous but instead motivated them to keep the abundant harvest a secret—probably because Mum shared her talent, helping others with their gardens throughout the entire Verald kingdom. Mum’s green thumb was probably why Seven wasn’t as skinny as the rest of the Harvest Zones.

  I crept along the alley on my way home from The Crane’s Nest, placing my feet carefully as I hugged the lovely shadows of the buildings in the Inbetween, pausing at intervals to listen for anything concealing itself in the night. The temperature was the energy sucking kind, unseasonably warm for mid-solstice. Something about the night kissed my skin, and I welcomed the black tendrils with open arms. If the dark were a person, I’d latch onto him and never let go. This pull to be in the night was a recent thing. Mum said it was a cheap thrill to make up for the monotonous routine of daily life. But for me, when the twin moons were up, the mystery of the shadows provided this spark I craved. The dark could take me away from this wasteland. The dark made me believe I was more than just a girl stuck in a life with no future but marriage and potato stew.

  I crept through the shadows until fire lit the black sky in a sudden blazing inferno. I jumped and pressed my back to the wall, heart in my mouth, flashing danger searing my insides. Mistress Moons. Please tell me that was a series of meteors.

  Making sure to keep concealed, I tilted my head to peer upward. The roaring streaks of red-and-orange flame were a brilliant beacon, painting an image of deadly beauty across the velvet of night.

  The fire was no meteor shower. It was Lord Irrik.

  I inhaled sharply and receded deeper into the shadows.

  Lord Irrik, the king’s pet Drae, was right there, in front of my eyes. The outline of his wings and body, and even his serpent-like tail, blotted out the stars. I’d grown up on stories of how the king had bound a powerful Drae to him. The Drae was invincible, and because he was fiercely loyal, his power protected the king.

  The Drae circled the skies over the Money Coil and the Inbetween, making no effort to conceal his massive dragon form. He was far too close for comfort. The Drae breathed bolts of fire that extended as long as the main laneway in Zone Seven. My mouth hung ajar as I stared at the streak of lethal heat illuminating the sky.

  Several moments passed as I debated my predicament. I couldn’t stay here all night— eventually a patrol would pass by—but moving now could alert the Drae to my presence. Of course, if Lord Irrik could really hear someone breathing from a mile away, I was screwed anyway. I glanced back at the sky, and judging by scorching fire, he’d passed into zone eight. I could make it home if I was careful.

  I ran to the next corner on my right and ducked behind an empty refuse bin and then took a deep breath as I plotted my route home. This far out from the Money Coil meant the streets would be empty. No one here could afford to bribe a patrol. I had two choices, and neither was very good. But before I could make my next move, the heavy powerful beating of wings and an inhuman roar came from much closer than before. Like, overhead close.

  He couldn’t be hunting me, though. I was absolutely secure in that conclusion. The king’s Drae had more important things to do than hunt a seventeen-year-old. I stilled as I glanced back the way I’d come.

  A seventeen-year-old who’d just left a rebel meeting.

  Dyter said the Drae had been circling the skies the last few nights. He also said no one would suspect the meetings were at The Crane’s Nest.

  This had to be coincidence, nothing more. There was no way the Drae was bothering with me. Uneasiness tickled the inside of my rib cage as I connected his presence here as something more for the first time. What if the king had sent Irrik to find out about the rebel meetings? What if they knew? Was there more to his presence than general intimidation and keeping the starving peasants in check?

  Despite the heat, chills danced across my skin. If Lord Irrik wasn’t patrolling, he was hunting rebels.

  And half-arsed rebel though I was, I’d just left the meeting point for all the full-arsed rebels.

  My heart raced, a quick scurrying of beats, like a lizard running over hot sand. I stared up at the night to try to make out the black-winged and horned dragon above, but millions of stars winked back from the darkness, revealing nothing of what shared their space. My mother’s hushed whisper from when I was young rose in my memory: The tendrils of midnight can cling to him, taking him in as one of their own, keeping him invisible in their midst.

  Seemed like that part was true. Sweat broke out on my forehead.

  There was something distinctly different between the story my mind told as I snuggled under a blanket and the reality of the night and heat surrounded me, the fear pulsing from deep within. Yet, I didn’t feel full of terror. Scared, yes, but his presence had nothing to do with me. It couldn’t. I’d never ever had anything to do with the powerful Drae—thank the Moons.

  The fire in the sky was gone, and with the sudden darkness, silence fell. On soft feet, I darted to the next corner, through the abandoned buildings, and across the road into the area where the rich lived. Their stone buildings were neatly arranged, and nestled in the middle of their rows was a dry, square space with a grand fountain where a beautiful garden used to grow. Only a couple of the buildings bordering the large square were occupied nowadays, but in times gone by, Mum said it used to be a bustling and happy place, full of people and goods—back when the land healers were still alive. Stupid king. Killing the Phaetyn seemed a moronic thing to do, even if you did want to live forever.

  I took three, theoretically calming, breaths and studied the dark, shadowed area with the fountain in the middle. Right now, with the invisible monster of my childhood overhead, the uncovered space only meant one thing.

  Open-expanse-where-powerful-Drae-could-eat-me-in-one-bite.

  “Al’righty,” I croaked. I probably wouldn’t be the pep talk queen of Harvest Zone Seven either.

  Maybe I should go all the way around. It put me at greater risk of encountering a patrol, but. . .

  Flame erupted in the black sky far to my right. He’d moved.

  Good time to go, good time to go, good time to go. Leaving my protective shadows, I sprinted across the barren garden.

  A primal force urged me to go faster, faster than I’d ever run before.

  Clearing the area, I pressed against the stone wall of the House of Tals’ residence, attuned to every tiny piece of my surroundings, and attempted to regulate my breathing. The chirping of crickets was only interrupted by the mournful whinny of a screech owl. That seemed normal-ish.

  An unbearable tickle attacked my throat. I worked to suppress the sneeze protesting the lack of moisture. I brushed my tongue over the roof of my mouth until the sensation passed. Drak, imagine that. Making it across the fountain garden just to sneeze.

  Thirty minutes later, I’d wound my way back out past the Inbetween to our section of housing.

  Peasant homes used to be built from wood, but with the barren land in Verald, that wasn’t an option anymore. The wealthy built their homes from stone mined in the Gemond Kingdom. But the quarries and
mines there, much like our land in Verald, were barely making quota. Long before I was born, King Irdelron ordered large sections of houses demolished, thinking the land beneath had lain fallow and would produce crops. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. However, most of the demolished housing materials were useable after, and the peasants of Verald erected hodgepodge houses from stone, wood, and metal.

  Our houses in the Wheel were in narrow, parallel rows, with a wide strip of shared dirt between every second row for personal gardens. Our garden spilled into the one behind, belonging to Celyst, and I often cut through from her house to avoid going in our front door.

  Our three-room dwelling consisted of a living space with a kitchen and eating area as well as a daybed that also served as a couch. There was a washroom, too, and a bedroom Mum had insisted was mine a year ago.

  I scampered past Celyst’s house, through her lush garden, thanks to Mum, and into ours. The growth became increasingly thick the closer I got to our house. I stepped over potato plants, squash vines, and then pushed through the rows of corn, behind which was my window. A year ago, plants reached all the way to the wall of our house, but I’d been trampling the ground beneath the window to my room when climbing in and out, and now a small patch of dirt lay trodden and infertile at my feet.

  Gripping the sill, I made quick work of pulling myself up and through my bedroom window onto my bed.

  As my heart rate returned to normal, I laughed to the empty room. I was in the safety of our four walls now, not just alive but unharmed and undetected. Tomorrow, I was totally telling Arnik I escaped Lord Irrik—with embellishments. Huge embellishments.

  —Girl from Harvest Zone Seven Escapes Invincible Drae—

  —Lord Irrik and the Skill-less Peasant Who Outsmarted Him—