by Sam Farren
“And anyway, Thane – you met him, didn't you? – his son was ill at the time. Kept eating bitterwillow, being fine for a day, and then coming down with it again. So I went to his house while Thane was busy talking things over for Winter's End with my father, and fixed his son up. Word got around, and before I knew it, people couldn't be nice enough to me.
“Our apothecary’s was tiny, but they gave me half the shop to myself. They divided it into two rooms, set out a table for me to work on, and then everyone was coming to our village. All the way from Ironash. I used to hear that I only charged half the price that a healer twice as far away did, but since I was renting the space at the apothecary's, Thane used to say, since I was doing this as part of the community, I only ever saw a few valts a week. Most of that I gave to my brother Michael, so he could study outside of the village and buy books.”
Sir Ightham was still looking at me, but her expression hadn't changed. I wondered what it would take to interest her, to impress her; more than my life story, apparently.
“I won't make you go back there,” she said, and the corners of my mouth twitched both because of what she'd said and what she hadn't. “You are, of course, welcome to leave whenever you choose. Should you wish to stay here, I will make the necessary arrangements.”
“I don't want to stay here,” I blurted out, and it was true. Travelling with Sir Ightham meant heading towards dragons, but as impressed as I was with myself for having survived the city thus far, the thought of staying in it, of sinking deeper into the maze of streets, made my stomach twist. There were too many people, they were too close; they'd find out, sooner or later.
“Very well,” Sir Ightham said. It was of no consequence to her.
She sat back up straight, looking over to the tavern door.
Rán came lumbering in. A spike of fear rose in my gut at the sight of her, but I shook it off, determined to be better than all the people who'd forgotten what they were talking about in favour of gawking at her. There was no denying that it was a sight to see; she'd had to duck to get through the doorway, hands wrapped around her horns to stop them scraping across the frame, and made her way over with her knees bent, so as not to send sparks across the ceiling.
I greeted her with a smile and she returned it with more than twice the enthusiasm, swiping a candle from a nearby table and frowning down at the empty chair next to me. After a moment's deliberation, she pushed it to the side, and sat cross-legged on the floor. Like that, she was only a head or so taller than me.
Horns not included, naturally.
“Put all our things in one of the rooms—the woman behind the counter was kind enough to show me to mine,” Rán explained. “What about you, dragon-slayer? Get the things you need from your contact?”
“My name is Ightham,” she said, staring down at her empty stein. “And no, there have been complications. We'll need to head elsewhere.”
“That so?” Rán asked, rubbing her chin.
I was too grateful for Sir Ightham taking me along in the first place to be bitter than Rán was privy to information I wasn't, but it was disheartening when Sir Ightham recalled that I was there and said, “Go order dinner for us. Choose whatever you please and get me the same—Rán?”
Rán looked down at me, half sorry that I was being dismissed, but not about to turn down a free meal.
“Steak. The biggest they have, three or four of 'em, and make sure they're raw,” she said, and I supposed some of my preconceptions about the pane had to be right.
I took a few coins, more of a servant than a squire, and headed back towards the bar. I felt their eyes on me as I went, both of them waiting until I was out of earshot, and glanced back while the barkeeper was busy serving someone else. They were huddled over the table, talking in low whispers. It wasn't out of paranoia; half of the bar had left their own business and gossip behind in favour of staring at Rán without an ounce of subtlety, straining to hear what she was saying.
“Back already, miss?” the barkeeper asked, grinning.
“I'd like...” There was a chalkboard behind his shoulder, white words scrawled across it, smudged in the corners. A list of the meals on offer, I expected.
I must've looked like I was struggling, because the barkeeper came to my rescue, saying, “Lot to choose from, isn't there? Well, can't speak for your tastes, miss, but personally, I'd say you can't go wrong with potatoes and a nice side of bacon.”
“I'll take two,” I said quickly, then paused before saying, “This might be strange, but could we have a pile of steaks? Raw steaks. Three or four of them.”
The barkeeper let out a laugh, and said, “If you've got the coin, our cook would be happy to save himself a little work.”
I ordered a round of drinks and carried them back to the table. Sir Ightham and Rán had rushed to say all they needed to throughout the mere minutes I'd been gone, and a stiff silence wrapped around the table. We all attended to our drinks, Rán's stein looking like a thimble in her grasp, both of them mulling over whatever it was a Knight and pane had reason to discuss.
It was Sir Ightham who brought life back to the conversation.
“Perhaps your questions about the Bloodless Lands would better be directed at Rán,” she suggested, and though that had been my plan all along, I felt foolish for ever demonstrating how little I really knew.
But Rán's ears perked up, and she said, “Oh? What's all this then?”
The words weren't hard to find, in the face of genuine curiosity.
“I was just wondering about them, that's all. If you'd ever seen them, seeing as they're on the other side of the mountains.”
I shrugged. I'd never seen a mountain, but I imagined them to be rockier versions of hills, if not a little taller. Nothing that couldn't be conquered in a matter of minutes, especially with legs like Rán's.
“Reckon you'd be better served asking any other pane about that,” Rán said. She'd already gulped her drink down, and was using her long, forked tongue to steal the last few drops from the bottom of the stein. “Left all this behind when I was young and headed off to Canth, along with a friend of mine. Human, as it happens. Reis—good person. Been friends with 'em for as long as I care to remember.”
The Bloodless Lands were pushed out of my mind. Fruit from Canth was one thing, but meeting someone who'd actually been wasn't the sort of thing that happened. Canth was a strange land, semi-mythical for being as far across the Uncharted Sea as it was.
Michael had told me it'd take ten weeks on the Kingdom's finest ship to reach the sun-scorched land, and a dozen questions formed in my mind. Were there really as many pirates as they said? Was it true that phoenixes still lived there, that the people still worshipped Isjin and the other gods?
Rán saw my questions coming from a mile off. Her eyes shone brighter than gold coins in the candlelight, and over her drink she told me that yes, there were pirates, yes, they worshipped the gods still, but the only phoenixes she'd ever seen were made of gold and silver.
“Lived in a pirate town, in fact. Port Mahon! Most welcoming place on the continent, providing you're able to pull your own weight,” Rán said. Dinner was brought over by a man far more skittish that the barkeeper. He placed Rán's plate on the edge of the table while standing as far from it as he could; the plate almost tipped towards the ground, but Rán placed a palm under it, saving her steaks. She ate them at her leisure, neglecting to use the knife and fork provided, cutting the meat to shreds on her tusks. “Reis is in charge there. Now, they're not the official leader, Mahon's never been the sort of place for too much order, but they grew into the role. People listen to 'em. I listen to them, if you'd believe that.”
“Really?” I asked, spearing a stray chunk of potato with my fork. My hunger had been put aside in favour of conversation, but I'd managed to clear a good third of my plate without realising it. “You let a human boss you around?”
Rán put a hand to her heart – where I assumed her heart was – and said, “What?
You think I'm stubborn and proud, is that it?”
A week ago, if I'd been told I was going to have dinner with a pane, I never would have believed it. If I'd been told I'd be making fun of them, I would've planned my own funeral.
“Just bossy,” I said, and Rán rolled her eyes, snatching up another steak.
Sir Ightham finished her meal faster than I thought possible. She'd eaten as though she was the pane, and once she was done with food and drink alike, she sat there, listening, gaze fixed on me. It was distracting. I'd be saying something to Rán, Rán who was only too happily to indulge each and every question I had, uncomfortably aware all the while that Sir Ightham was staring at me. I tried to shake it off, telling myself that her thoughts were elsewhere and she was merely staring through me.
“How about you, yrval?” I didn't know what the word meant and Sir Ightham arched her brow every time Rán said it, but there was a softness to it that I didn't dislike. “Is this your first time in Praxis?”
“It's my first time almost anywhere,” I told her, and though her features were generally more animated than most, that got the biggest reaction out of her yet. Her ears folded back and she waited for me to go on. “We went to Eaglestone yesterday, but before that, I'd always stayed in my village. I guess the elders didn't want me thinking there was much more to the world than our little marketplace.”
And yet I could've spent a lifetime exploring all the hidden corners of Praxis alone. Rán had been to Canth and back, had undoubtedly travelled further still than all that, and to her, it must've seemed as though I'd been freed from a cage. Sitting there, free to speak, surrounded by people who knew what I was, made me feel as though I had been in a prison of sorts, and I was on the verge of saying something saccharine when Sir Ightham straightened in her seat, pulling our attention towards her.
She immediately sank against the bench, hat casting a shadow over her face.
Rán saw what she had before I thought to look around. There was a soldier standing in the doorway; not a guard, like the ones at the entrances of Eaglestone and Praxis. I was able to make the distinction, even by candlelight. They wore the royal family's crest on the front of their golden armour, not the sigil of a town or city, and the barkeeper immediately headed over to speak to them.
Sir Ightham spoke to me without looking my way.
“Go to Rán's room, collect the things, and leave the building,” she said, and Rán pulled a key from her pocket, carefully sliding it across the table. Sir Ightham licked her finger and thumb, putting out the candles. “Room three on the first floor. Don't run.”
I took the key. My fingers were shaking, but I picked it up, not letting it clatter against the stone floor. I stood slowly – too slowly, perhaps – wanting to question Sir Ightham but knowing instinctively not to speak. I headed out of the tavern and into the inn, doing my best not to look at the soldier, telling myself that they couldn't hear my heart pounding.
Telling myself that much worse awaited me in the guise of a dragon.
The lobby was brightly lit, compared to the tavern, and it took me a moment to get my bearings. Numbers, at least, I could read. I slipped the key into the lock, unsteady fingers doing their best to betray me, and heard the bolt click open.
I pushed the door to slowly. I don't know what I'd been expecting to see, for the room was plain, housing only a bed that was too small for any pane to sleep in and a basin Rán's hands probably wouldn't fit in. The bags were placed at the foot of the bed, and I scooped them up, one over each shoulder, carrying what we'd brought from market in my arms.
I left the key in the lock, not wanting to have to stop in the lobby and explain why we were leaving before making use of the room, glancing back towards the tavern as I went. Sir Ightham was already gone, but Rán remained at the table. I supposed that leaving with a pane would've drawn too much attention to her, but it didn't make any sense to me.
I understood why Sir Ightham didn't want people knowing who she was, in order to move from place to place peacefully, but to be scared out of an establishment by a Felheimish soldier was not as easily explained.
I met two more of them on my way out: a woman no older than I was with an axe at her hip, and a red-headed man with a cloak draped around his shoulders, dragon-bone armour shining through. I almost walked straight into them, almost dropped my bags, but the man – the Knight – placed a hand atop them, steadying me, and said, “Careful now,” as I stuttered my thanks and did my best to stare at the ground.
They didn't suspect a thing, and why would they? I hurried out into the night, cold air washing away any of the toll the ale had taken on my body, and couldn't see Sir Ightham anywhere.
The bags were nearing the point of being uncomfortable to carry when Rán came around the side of the building, hoisting them out of my arms and pressing a finger to her lips. I followed her through the streets, trying to be as quick on my feet as she was, until we reached the stables.
Sir Ightham was already there, leading Charley and Calais out.
“Doesn't mean they know you're here,” Rán said, patting a hand against Sir Ightham's back. She didn't flinch and simply held out Charley's reins to me. “But it's better to be safe than sorry. What's the plan now, dragon-slayer?”
CHAPTER V
Rán didn't have a horse of her own. She would've crushed one under her weight, and had no trouble keeping up with Charley and Calais.
She ran ahead with Sir Ightham, and they spoke – argued – as we galloped away from Praxis. I tugged on Charley's reins, willing him to catch up with them, but it did no good. They spoke in a rough language I didn't recognise. It sounded far from aggressive, in spite of the way they continued to rebuke each other, both pointing in different directions, each convinced their plan was the only one worth following.
It didn't matter that I couldn't understand them. They could've been speaking Mesomium and I wouldn't have soaked it in. All I could focus on was the fact that Sir Ightham had run from our own soldiers, had run from another Knight. I was more tired than I'd been in months, forced awake by the uneven road beneath us, and I began to wonder if she was Sir Ightham at all.
She could've killed a Knight and stolen their armour. She seemed good enough for it. Perhaps I'd been wrong to trust Rán so easily; perhaps Sir Ightham had chosen a pane to confide in for a reason, perhaps—
They stopped.
I snapped out of my suspicions and had Charley grind to such a sudden halt that I lurched forward, near-enough winding myself against the back of his neck. He made a gruff sound, apologetic, and I rubbed behind his ear, glancing warily between them.
“What are we gonna do with this one?” Rán asked, tipping her head towards me.
Sir Ightham paused. I didn't try making out anything in her expression. Had the sun chosen to rise a handful of hours early, I still wouldn't have learnt anything.
“... she comes with us,” Sir Ightham eventually settled on, reaching her conclusion because I already knew too much. Or at least enough to help other people piece the whole picture together.
“I'm glad of it,” Rán said to me, placing her hands on her hips and looking around. I imagined she had better vision than any human, for she sounded nothing short of confident when she said, “We haven't been followed. Looks like we're at the mercy of your paranoia, dragon-slayer. What say we rest up for the night, though? The horses will appreciate it, if nothing else.”
Rán was right. We'd left Praxis in a hurry and hadn't had the time to dig bitterwillow out for Charley and Calais. They'd run on what energy they'd recovered while resting in the stables, and they'd eaten too much of the stuff recently to be able to stomach any more.
I wasn't averse to the thought of sleep, either. Things would make more sense in the morning, I told myself. I'd only seen half of the picture and misinterpreted the whole situation; maybe the man I'd seen at the inn was the thief, not Sir Ightham. Whatever doubts I had, I couldn't force myself out of the habit of using her title, even inside
my own head.
We were no more than half a mile from the wall. I only knew it was there because the stars were abruptly blotted out along the horizon, and we headed away from it, where there were trees for cover. Trees for bandits to hide behind; trees for bandits to scamper up, once they realised we were with a pane.
No fire was built and Rán settled down cheerfully, curling up on her side like a house cat. Sir Ightham towered over her and said, “I'll keep watch then, shall I,” as I did my best to get comfortable against the ground. The grass grew thin, and every time I swept a stone away, I lured a twig out of the ground, not noticing it until my eyes were already closed.
For all their arguing, Sir Ightham and Rán must've come to some sort of agreement, even if that agreement was nothing more than leaving the matter until morning. It was almost peaceful. Rán fell asleep within moments, and Sir Ightham's presence became subdued, as though she were a shadow, or one of the trees surrounding us.
Excitement and fear alike faded within the two of them. They were used to this sort of life, while my heart was in my throat, thoughts swirling until I couldn't stand to keep my eyes closed. I was exhausted but unable to sleep, starkly aware that I didn't fit into their world, and yet I never once considered turning back.
When I couldn't trick myself into falling asleep, I moved onto my front, elbows in the dirt. Sir Ightham sat on a tree stump, Calais sleeping behind her, turning something in her palm. A cloud deserted the moon, letting light glint against gold.
It was a pendant of sorts.
“Sir—” I whispered, and her head snapped up. “What's happening? Are you in trouble?”
No answer, not straight away. I waited for her to tell me to go back to sleep, but the longer she kept her silence, the more convinced I became that the answer to that second question was yes.
