The Dragon Knight and the Steam World

by D. C. Clemens

  “Well, I predict they’ll leave. Do you hear their horses? They’re still flustered. Another big roar will have them throwing off their masters and trampling them themselves.”

  Those flustered steeds pacified over the next hour. The army neither charged nor retreated in that time. I asked Aranath to belt out smaller roars every once in a while to nudge the Chiszir in the right direction.

  “What’s taking them so long?” asked Clarissa.

  “I bet they’re testing how long Mercer can keep the dragon summoned,” answered Gerard. “They might figure someone his age can’t possibly command the prana to hold the link for long.”

  “Then they’ll be disappointed,” I said, riling up my corruption.

  When another half hour or so passed, the dragon lifted his head and said, “They’re falling back… They appear to be going northwest.”

  “They probably want to regroup with the first army,” said Gerard.

  “To attack the town?” wondered the vampire.

  “It’s their only option if things go bad,” I said. “We’ll simply have to make sure things don’t go bad.”

  We flew back to Shimator on griffins. That first Chiszir army had surrounded the town’s defenses, but no battle raged. Scouts also confirmed the larger army was establishing itself nearby, mostly to the west and southwest.

  “Damn,” said Ujin when we landed within the walls. “Guys, Shifa says she’s a bit nervous. I know a dragon is tough and all, but can he burn ten thousand angry horsemen before they hurt her and her dear friend?”

  I peered at Odet, who had yet to exhibit any nervousness regarding our present situation. Like Aranath, Mytariss was is no condition to assist us against an entire army, so despite witnessing the army herself, Odet’s continued self-assurance likely came from trusting that a battle was not going to take place. Or perhaps briefly merging with the eidolon embedded unrealistic confidence in her? Who could say?

  “Tell Shifa and her dear friend that they’ll be fine,” I answered. “Angry or not, the Chiszir will have to assume trying to breach these walls with a dragon protector will devastate their army. Even without Aranath, three thousand Wregor soldiers should be able to defend this place admirably for a day or two. With Aranath, a victory here will be hollow if most of them have turned to ash.”

  “Ah, hear that, Shifa? You’re worried for nothing. If I die, it’ll feel hollow to them.”

  Waiting for any kind of news, I lightly slept sitting on a chair posted up against a guard tower.

  After hearing Gerard saying my name, my eyelids opened to flimsy dawn light filtering through a haze of faint fog.

  “The Chiszir have requested your presence at the meeting,” informed the knight. “They’ve asked for it to take place in one of their tents.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And for everyone participating to be unarmed.”

  “Agreed. Now, let’s get this over with.”

  The general, two of her men, Odet, and Gerard comprised my negotiation team. Horses conveyed us out of the town. We guided them down a dirt road lined with roughly symmetrical rows of tribal horsemen. A hundred yards from the town’s western wall, and situated right on the path, was a wide, light brown, rounded tent. Standing outside the entrance was their interpreter from before and four tribesmen.

  On hopping off our horses, the interpreter said, “We’ll look after your mounts. Please, enter.”

  He pulled open the flap to reveal the tent’s interior. A thick wooden pole poked through a big hole at the center of the ceiling, allowing natural light to pervade the space. Nevertheless, several lit braziers provided extra brightness. To the left and right of the pole rested thick slabs of dark gray stone, white bones implanted on their surface. Going by the rectangular wooden plates holding chunks of raw looking meat and boxy cups, they evidently acted as tables. There were no chairs, so the three chiefs sat cross-legged by the rock on the left. Three other tribesmen sat on the right side.

  Once we fully entered, the interpreter said, “Those directly involved in the negotiations can join the chiefs and me. The rest of you can join the guardsmen.”

  That put Gerard and the general’s two bodyguards on the right. A strip of a dark green rug decorated with the images of animals softened the ground for my behind. The chiefs had not acknowledged us, for they were eating.

  “Chiszir do not negotiate when stomachs can growl,” said the interpreter. “Growling stomachs mean they have been bad hosts, and that the mind is weakened by an underfed body. Negotiations will not begin until all of you are seen eating something.”

  Keen on getting things to move along, I snatched one of the juicy hunks of meat a few buzzing flies also eyed. My teeth needed several hard chews to tear the squishy food to ingestible pieces. At least the bloody flavors and sweet juices it released tasted decent.

  After swallowing, I asked, “What animal did this come from?”

  “The hornless rhino. Its meat is quite tough when uncooked, but the resourceful Chiszir have learned that considerable chewing fools the stomach into believing it ate more than it did. Eating less helps keep food stores filled in times of want.”

  “And war is a time of want,” said the general, whose unreserved contempt clouded her face. “You are Poto Hamutuk, are you not?”

  Looking down to pick up a slice of yellow fruit, the interpreter answered, “My name is Bersten now.”

  “Is there a problem, general?” I asked.

  “Only if you don’t mind being in the presence of traitors. When giving his description to my men last night, some of them informed me of a story involving the Hamutuk family. How their youngest son killed his eldest brother and fled to Chiszir lands to escape justice.”

  He shut his eyes and furrowed his brow as he said, “My brother did not deserve my family’s inheritance. He would have ruined the family name with his whoring and drunken life. Other than my mother, blind to his faults, news of his death would have been welcomed by all who knew him.”

  “Yes, the story of all murderers. The world is made better by their deeds. It makes sense why the Chiszir are the only people you could turn to.”

  “I have proved myself among them. That’s all that matters. I no longer fight or live for people who only care about living their lives to achieve more riches, or-”

  “Stop right there,” I said. “Neither of you are going to change the other’s mind, nor is my own mind going to weigh in on something that isn’t my concern. Bersten, please ask the chiefs if they’re ready to end this war.”

  Shaking off the wrinkled skin on his forehead, the translator went through with my request. “And how do you plan to do that, dragon knight?” Bersten’s mouth asked for the eldest chief.

  “If my instincts are correct, I don’t have to do anything. You want to talk to her…” I turned to the right so that my eyes indicated the person I spoke of. “Odet Astor is a valkrean princess of Alslana, and I suspect she has an idea or two to send your army back without it looking as though you are dogs with tails between their legs. Or am I wrong, princess?”

  The tiniest frown in her narrowing eyes formed before she gave her attention to those in front of us. After clearing her throat, she said, “As the dragon knight spelled out last night, your reasons to be here amount to little more than razing the land and promote dread. You invaded knowing there is little strategic value to be gained. However, what if an opportunity to secure a valuable resource presented itself? I’ve learned that your grasslands and deserts have few deposits of vlimphite, and it is not a mineral often traded to your people. I can change that, at least for your three tribes.”

  All three chiefs either straightened their backs or cocked their heads. One of Bersten’s eyebrows rose.

  Continuing, Odet said, “The terms are simple, my lords. If you agree to pull back your men, then each of your tribes will receive raw vlimphite directly from my kingdom. You could besiege the empire until you’ve surrounded their capital and you would not
pilfer a tenth as much vlimphite as I can offer you by simply going back to your families. Excluding any customary gifts of recognition, there won’t even be a need for you to trade anything other than this agreement in return.”

  Jumping in, I said, “And if you break the agreement by attacking Wregor unjustly, I will support the empire in an offensive against your tribes. I won’t even care about getting back the vlimphite.”

  Once Bersten finished translating our words, the chiefs began speaking in low murmurs. Of course, if we could understand them, their whispering would have been easily overheard. When the trio ended this round of discussion, they told their ally what they wanted vocalized.

  “Why can we trust a nation so far away? What can you gain by offering something so cherished to us?”

  “Gain? What about keeping my friends’ lives out of danger? Or valuing life of any Orda man, woman, and child outside my home borders? This is the best way I can avoid bloodshed I can think of, so if I have to lower my reserve of a heartless mineral to do so, I believe it to be a worthy expense. It’s also something I will not be liable to offer again. I just so happen to be in a good mood after recently routing an enemy in Jegeru.”

  “Exactly how much vlimphite can you gift us?”

  From there the princess and the tribal leaders began deliberating on how much vlimphite each person considered enough to leave content. Odet explained how much vlimphite her kingdom mined in a year, how much it would cost to transport it, what other goods she could send over, and how upset her sister-queen may or may not become at promising something so treasured without her direct involvement. The deliberation lasted to the point that my legs fell asleep twice.

  As she was prone to do, Odet won the room in the end. The chiefs simply could not resist the vlimphite, which the wings of guildsmen would deliver in several weeks if all went well. The prana-trapping stone promised to give their kin an edge in trade, marriage rights, and in fights involving other tribes. Fetched scribes arrived to make the agreement official. It was near noon when my group finally left the stuffy tent.

  Raising myself on the horse, I asked Odet, “Why did I have to guess you had a plan instead of being told you had one?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to know about it. I wanted to refine your diplomacy skills first. I can’t always be there to do it for you.”

  “It still feels like you could have just told me that.”

  “I wanted it to feel natural. Did you at least get the chance to plan how you were going to approach the negotiations?”

  “Uh, a little. It mainly involved vague threats and an analogy about how the Chiszir were like eagles and the empire was a tiger or something to that effect. I mean, I was going to rely on your help no matter what.”

  “I suppose it couldn’t be helped. No matter, I’m glad to have helped this time. Let’s hope other Chiszir tribes don’t invade Wregor in the hopes of weaseling more vlimphite from me.”

  “I don’t expect to be here long enough for that to happen. As soon as Ghevont catches up, we’re leaving this continent.”

  Chapter Three

  The Chiszir army trotted out of our vision in a couple of hours. The general kept her men on edge for the rest of the day, but with her scouts returning the next morning to report that the invaders were indeed on track to leave Wregor, she permitted them a measure of merriment when they took their breaks. Despite many not speaking the shared tongue, almost all of them came up to my group to thank us for driving away an enemy that would have surely overwhelmed them in a day or two.

  Regardless, there existed a pent-up bellicosity among the soldiers. It would fade naturally over time, but I preferred to help them unleash it in training sessions. In this way, I connected with soldiers better than I ever could with nonwarriors, language barrier or not. The never ending line of sparring partners helped push my endurance using the darkness seething in my veins. Few could break my stance or flank me when my corruption flowed freely, but the soldiers got a kick out of sizing each other up against me. I got a kick out of it as well.

  Three evenings after the Chiszir left, the scholar showed himself. He proudly announced his procedure had extracted all trace of the desiccation disease from the royal family, and he did not need to expend all the nismerdon prana to do it. Still, he wished to go back to Jegeru to harvest another helping of the exotic power. While I denied his request, I promised we would go back at some point to check on things once Aranath’s wing recovered. To that end, the next dawn put us back on an aerial path that led to the Dragon Spire Temple.

  Wregor riders flew us north. Switching griffins at every fort for the next two days put us at the edge of Heshela, the nation bordering much of Wregor’s northwestern border. From there we could only depend on the guild riders to bear us. There was not much of Heshela to get through, so despite going a little slower, it required a meager day and a half to cross into Ebrushen.

  Our destination was Ebrushen’s capital, a port city by the name of Vendahar. After Kikokumo, Vendahar’s strategic position in Efios and its relative proximity to Kozuth made it the second richest city in the continent. According to Bodgan, the wealth only added to the untidy order of leadership, which preferred to hire mercenaries from the north rather than organize a proper military. With Ebrushen being one of the nations who sent mercenaries to support Wregor’s defenses, I would someday have to meet with their splintered leadership to fulfill my promise to aid them in return.

  For now, an injured Aranath gave me the excuse to avoid them. Though, in truth, the dragon looked to be healing perfectly fine without dragon magic coming into play. He estimated he would not be far from full health by the time we reached Kozuth. Whatever the state of his injury, getting him mended was not my main reason for going to the dragon temple.

  It took three days to reach Vendahar, a city in love with bronze statues and stone towers with blue banners on top. While the guildsmen were coming along to the temple, their airborne partners would not be our primary transport for the next leg of the journey. We required sails to get us through the Osahar. The whole group traversed the waterfront to find out which ship best met our criteria. It would have been easier to send the guildsmen on the mission, but the thought of being confined to a floating, rocking box for the next several weeks incentivized us to enjoy walking on stable ground while it lasted.

  The hours spent questioning sailors largely ended at impasses. Most ships setting off were sailing for other cities in Efios, and those heading to Dracera still needed a few days to prepare. Other crewmen seemed hesitant to bring on guildsmen on to their ship, implying illicit goods stashed somewhere on board. Their captains preferred hiring mercenaries with fewer scruples. At any rate, a promising candidate led us to a good talk with the skipper of the Montagu.

  The gangly, shirtless, bewhiskered Captain Uthorn managed and partly owned a peanut colored ship that was scheduled to head out to his homeland the next afternoon. He did not shy from the guildsmen, offering them the standard discount if they helped fight off pirates or sea monsters at any point in the voyage. He passed my test when mentioning the vampire with an animal-blood diet in my company only got him telling a quick story about how he was certain he ferried across a fleeing bloodsucker on his first voyage as captain.

  We refrained from revealing the rest of our identities until we met him on his ship late the next morning. Not sure if we jested or not, he reacted with a diffident laugh. Our humorless faces got him thinking we were truly serious, but his duties soon distracted him away from us. A deckhand showed us where we could sleep and pointed out a few of the other travelers who booked passage to Dracera.

  A bit later, some angry yelling drew me away from the stern. At the gangplank stood the captain and four of his fellow seafarers. Six armed men at the pier shouted up at them. From what I gathered, the men at the pier were arguing about being let go by the captain at the last minute and wanted some payment for the inconvenience. However, they summarily learned the captain was n
ot being cheap. The mercenaries saw who they had been replaced by when the professionally outfitted Gerard and riders made themselves known. That sent the mercs grumbling off.

  A stiff northern wind helped push Montagu’s angled sails away from the harbor half an hour after the irritated men left. For the first hour I merely watched the coastline slowly shrinking, after which I went below deck to help organize the latest goods that had been brought on board.

  Like always, traveling by ship was all about finding something to do. Montagu did not skimp on deckhands, so the actual sailing part was not going to be handled by anyone in my group unless a crisis occurred. The flying riders did take on official duties when at least one of them would be up keeping watch for trouble. That reduced the amount of tedious watches for the sailors, since they’d be pointless with a griffin’s vision and range being far superior.

  Making it his mission in life to alleviate the ever creeping boredom was Remy, a cousin of the captain’s. This sixty-year-old man, who somehow kept his fat limited to his belly, not only enjoyed playing card and board games and the like, he was always up for inventing new ways to play with them. He invited different people to add their own twist to the rules or a new game piece he carved himself. He hoped some of these new games would propagate once his cousin stopped at the latest port.

  Besides occasionally selling a few board games to a noble, he derived little income from his favorite, seemingly only, pastime. A somewhat eccentric life to lead, but with the captain clearly content with his cousin’s harmless presence, it was not my place to judge. If anything, Remy was one of the few strangers I ever met where I could stand totally silent next to without feeling obligated to say anything. He simply whittled away at the next little figurine he or someone else came up with.

  I thought Alex might try running away right before we set sail, but with everyone now stuck in a ship, he appeared resigned to wait out for a better opportunity later. It’s possible he was also curious about the temple we headed for. Despite his environment forcing him to remain put, I did not let up my watch on him. I figured he wouldn’t do anything rash, but if something insidious befell, I wanted my brother to be quickly cleared of suspicion. It didn’t help that Alex often appeared fidgety, and therefore untrustworthy, when he stayed still for too long, something he had to endure on a ship.