by Layton Green
“I’m not a majitsu yet,” Synne replied. “I haven’t completed my training.”
Val decided not to press her, at least not in front of the others. He sensed it was a sore subject.
Cyrus again helmed the carriage. With a nod to his passengers, he lifted the stagecoach off the courtyard and into the night.
“You should rest on the journey,” the wizard guard said. “We arrive at first light.”
“Arrive where?” Val asked.
“Porlock. The closest village to where Tobar disappeared. A legate there will inform you better.”
Val had more questions, so many more, but he heard a note of finality in Cyrus’s tone and decided to heed his advice. As the carriage flew high above the city, between the carnival of lights below and the dome of stars above, Val leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
It was a long time before he fell asleep, and when he finally did, he swam in memories of another night sky, in another world. His thoughts lingered on his brothers and then, surprising Val, they roamed fast and free to a young woman from Urfe, a daughter of wizards with pale skin and turquoise eyes, intelligent eyes, and a spirit as fierce and independent as his own.
Early the next morning, Val woke as the carriage set down in a cobblestone square surrounded by speckled granite buildings with thatched roofs. A soft layer of mist cloaked the village.
A crowd of people gathered as the party hoisted their packs and stepped out of the stagecoach. The faces of the villagers were wary, distrustful. Val didn’t like the vibe. The gray cloaks of the wizard guard seemed to both cow and antagonize the crowd.
A rotund man in a cloak of fine wool pressed through the crowd, hurrying to greet the new arrivals. He bowed to Cyrus and then Val.
“Legate Wainwright,” Cyrus said. “Well met again.”
“Obliged, my lord. If you will follow me?”
The villagers muttered amongst themselves as the legate led Val and the others through a series of narrow lanes crowded with two-story wooden buildings. The destination was an inn called The Oak and Bull, which sat across the street from a red brick clock tower.
The common room of the inn smelled like wood smoke and cherry pie. Legate Wainwright commandeered a table next to the hearth. Despite the chill outside, the fire put out so much heat that Val took off his cloak.
“The villagers are unhappy,” Cyrus stated, after introductions were made and a serving girl brought tea and scones. “Even worse than before.”
The legate’s obsequious expression soured. “A new demon has emerged. It took a boy of eighteen yesterday.”
Rucker had been staring at the fire, and his attention snapped back to the group. “What do you mean, a demon?”
“Another?” Cyrus asked, ignoring the adventurer. “I was hoping it was an aberration. It’s time to post guards along the border. They still blame wizards?”
“Yes, milord. Appeals to logic and patience from Londyn . . . have fallen on deaf ears.”
“Is there a description?”
“Only that the beast has many arms and stands at least seven feet tall.”
Rucker snorted.
“No reports of magic?” Cyrus asked.
“They say it runs faster than a galloping horse, and can swallow a grown pig whole. Exaggerations, of course.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” The queen’s wizard glanced out the window. “Do we have any idea where it sleeps?”
“Multiple villagers have reported seeing it running towards the ruins of the old fort.”
Cyrus gazed into the fire. “There has long been mistrust between wizards and common born in this part of the Realm. More deaths will only sow malcontent and embolden this loathsome Revolution.”
“Shall I request a regiment, my lord?”
“I’ll take care of this myself,” Cyrus said, causing the legate’s eyes to widen. The gray-cloaked wizard eyed the group. “Or rather, we will. Right now. It’s early, and perhaps we can catch the demon unawares.”
Rucker growled. “Stop calling it that.”
“Excuse me?”
“There hasn’t been a true demon in the Realm for a thousand years. Ye should know that, because yer not standing far from the town of Badŏn where they last appeared.”
Dida sat up straighter. “You mean Badŏn the Damned? Is this true?”
“True as taxes.” Rucker jerked his thumb at Cyrus. “It took a whole army of his kind to get rid of ’em.”
“I’m fully aware of that.” Cyrus stood and pulled the cowl of his robe over his head, casting his face in shadows. “And the town of Badŏn, damned as you say and destroyed by a spirit storm nearly one thousand years ago, might be exactly where the demons are coming from.”
-6-
The dragons flew closer. As the Yith Riders shouted to each other in their own language, the simorghs hovered in midair, awaiting a command.
Will’s voice felt tight when he spoke, fear clawing at his throat. “Did someone send them?”
“No one commands dragons,” Selina said. “They act of their own accord.”
“Can you do something?”
“It takes bigger magic than mine to fight such creatures,” she said grimly. “A dragon’s claws can penetrate all but the most powerful of wizard shields.”
“Do they . . . breathe fire?”
“Each species of dragon possesses one or two innate magical abilities. The only fire breathers I’m aware of live inside the Mokupuni volcanoes. Far away from here.”
When the pair of dragons were a hundred yards away, Will got a closer look. Both beasts had mottled green scales, four short but powerful legs, and an icy blue Mohawk of spikes running down their backs. They had enormous horned heads and long sinewy bodies, three times the size of the simorghs.
“Highland dragons,” Selina breathed.
Still the simorghs hadn’t moved. When the dragons drew within twenty yards, close enough for Will to see their flattened snouts and strangely intelligent faces, the great beasts opened their maws and vomited a cone of greenish-blue vapor. Will hung on for his life as the simorghs dove just in time to avoid the attack, flying underneath the dragons and hurtling towards the closest line of peaks. A sharp chemical odor emanated from the breath weapon the dragons had unleashed.
“What was that?” he shouted to Selina.
“Stone mist. They use it to paralyze their victims in the sky and drop them to the ground like stones.”
The dragons wheeled sharply in midair and raced after the simorghs. At first it seemed as if the smaller birds were faster, but the dragons started to gain ground. Will guessed the Yith had planned to lose the beasts in the approaching peaks, but it was clear they wouldn’t reach them in time.
After more shouted commands, the simorghs darted higher when the dragons released the next blast of teal mist. The vapor passed right beside Will, causing him to choke and feel a tingling sensation in his limbs.
“I was able to shield us on that pass,” Selina said. “But we won’t survive a direct hit.”
Mateo fired off two arrows that bounced off the mottled hide of the nearest dragon. Will noticed Mala talking to her Yith Rider, who shook his head in disagreement at whatever she was saying. Gunnar, Mala’s brutish companion, was standing in his saddle, clutching the war hammer he favored.
When Will turned towards the third simorgh, his cousin met his eyes. Though Will felt nothing but desperation, he returned Mateo’s look of grim determination, drawing strength from his kin.
Yasmina stood in her saddle and scanned the horizon as if looking for something unseen. When she turned to face the western horizon, left of the peaks, she risked leaving her stirrups to edge closer to the simorgh’s head. Gripping its mane, she bent down as if talking to it, and Will feared she would plunge to her death. The Yith Rider shouted and waved his hand for her to strap back in.
The peaks were a half mile away. Yasmina returned to her position right before the dragons wheeled and approached again. This time th
e simorghs didn’t wait: they broke apart in three different directions before the dragons got close enough to release the stone mist. Will’s mount banked left, and one of the dragons followed. Mala’s and Gunnar’s dragon veered right, drawing another.
The simorgh bearing Mateo and Yasmina executed a crafty looping maneuver, soaring over both dragons, then flew directly towards the western horizon. As it flew, the great bird emitted a piercing cry that rattled Will’s eardrums.
The Yith Rider looked furious but couldn’t get the simorghs to respond. What had Yasmina told them, Will wondered? Was she trying to draw the dragons into the peaks, where simorgh mounts had more maneuverability? They would never make it in time.
The dragon chasing Mala and Gunnar changed tactics. It broke off and flew towards Will and Selina, a hundred feet from the other dragon, cutting off the escape angles. They were going to pick them off one by one, starting with Will’s mount.
In desperation, his simorgh flew higher, towards the clouds. Both dragons followed. The simorgh whirled and looped, spun and dove, but nothing it did could shake the huge reptiles. Will hugged the saddle as one of the beasts opened its mouth and breathed, causing the simorgh to veer left, directly into the path of the other dragon.
Just as the dragon reared its head to release a blast of stone mist, an even louder cry split the air, much deeper than the simorgh’s shrill call, somewhere between a boom and a roar.
The dragons lowered their snouts and whipped around in midair. Will’s simorgh seized the opportunity, nose-diving almost to the ground before leveling out. When he was finally able to look up, he saw an awesome sight: five gigantic birds with black feathers, each as big as a house, flying straight towards the dragons. He recognized the majestic avians from the journey home from Leonidus’s castle.
“Rukhs,” Selina said, in a shocked voice. “The ancient enemy of dragons, and immune to their breath.”
The dragons hung vertically in the air and bellowed their rage, but instead of engaging, they took off in the direction from which they had come. The rukhs gave chase, and both groups disappeared into the horizon.
Shaking from nerves, Will felt the wind rush in his face as the simorghs raced towards the southeast horizon. They didn’t stop until the moon shadowed the earth.
Two days later, Will woke to a stunning view of snowcapped volcanic peaks and rippling green forests. His breath fogged the air as he clutched his blanket tighter, yearning for a cup of good coffee.
The night before, Mala and the guides had seemed warier than usual. Over breakfast, he learned they were deep inside the Mayan Kingdom. If all went as planned, they would arrive at the Yucatan village late the next day.
He also learned Yasmina had found the rukhs that had saved their lives. She had sensed them in the mountains when they flew over. Will didn’t bother asking how she knew, or how she had coerced her simorgh to summon the legendary birds. He wasn’t even sure Yasmina knew. Elegon had provided her with some training, but Will sensed she had an innate talent that had opened like a lotus flower in this world, and was still unfurling.
After the party broke camp, the simorghs flew low and kept to the mountains. Will saw a number of strange avian creatures, but no more dragons. At one point they crossed a sapphire blue lake ringed by limestone outcroppings, and a group of winged humanoids rose into the air, clutching spears and flying aggressively towards them. The simorghs flew higher and faster, evading them with diffident ease.
The next day, after camping on a high meadow tucked between peaks, they crossed a long stretch of ocean and then flew over the Yucatan: a vast, flat, impossibly dense jungle broken only by scattered hills or the rare tip of a stone pyramid thrusting above the trees. Will felt both excited and uneasy at the thought of trekking through that forbidding landscape.
As the sun started to descend, the simorghs angled towards a port town sandwiched between the jungle and a coastline as pale blue as a robin’s egg. The dusty outskirts sloped gently up to a plateau dotted with stone buildings in the center of town. The plateau overlooked the main harbor, where hundreds of small boats bobbed offshore.
“Ixmal?” Will asked.
“Aye,” his Yith Rider called back.
The forms of the simorghs and their riders started to shimmer. A glance at Selina’s face, deep in concentration, told Will she was cloaking their arrival. The Yith guided their mounts down to the tree line, which provided more camouflage, and the simorghs landed on a stretch of beach south of town.
The party thanked the Riders, who said they would camp in nearby mountains and fly over the same spot once a week for two months. After they left, Will felt a heaviness settle into his bones.
They were on their own now, deep in the Mayan Kingdom.
Mala glanced at the position of the sun as the party gathered around her. “We’ll need to stay the night, and the inns are near the center of town. I have one in mind that will forge certificates of visitation from the port authority. On the way, do nothing to draw the attention of the border guard. They might ask for our papers, and we have nothing yet to give.”
“Why not follow the rules?” Selina asked. “Register with the port authority?
“Has word not reached the Barrier Coast? New Victoria and the Mayan Kingdom suspended diplomatic relations months ago. It is common knowledge that Lord Alistair has his eye on southern expansion.”
“Why not camp here instead?” Mateo asked.
“In the center of town, we will blend. Out here, we might catch the eye of a watchful patrol. Moreover, bandits roam the perimeter of the city at night.”
“When do we enter the jungle?” Selina asked.
“In the morning, if I can locate the guide I have in mind. Two more things: the use of magic by foreign wizards is prohibited, and if we happen to pass near a Battle Mage, be particularly careful. They question outsiders more than the local patrols.”
“What exactly is a Battle Mage?” Will asked.
“If you have the misfortune of seeing one, Will the Builder, you’ll know.”
After that ominous pronouncement, they gathered their packs and headed towards town. Dusty footpaths and scattered collections of thatched roof huts marked the settlements on the perimeter. Short, thick, chestnut-skinned women carried water jugs and pounded maize in ceramic pots as children ran among the huts and splashed in the surf. Though the party drew plenty of stares, no one accosted them.
The poor areas surrounding the town merged into a busy center of dusty stone plazas, canvas stalls, and a mix of cobblestone, dirt, and grass roads. The denizens of the town proper looked much more affluent and culturally varied than the peasants on the outskirts.
“Ixmal is not a typical Mayan town,” Maya said. “It has a lax governor, and the port has imparted a cosmopolitan flavor.”
The aroma of cooking lard overlaid the salty tang in the air. Will saw a few sights that caused his head to turn: a silver-haired woman selling miniature winged serpents out of cages; a group of men in loincloths practicing a type of ball game in the street; a set of deep stone pits containing emaciated prisoners withering in the sun; a painted man in a headdress spinning a giant wheel covered in runes, shouting to the heavens with his arms upraised.
Mala had to switch course a few times, and Will could tell she didn’t know the town that well. At one point they found themselves crossing a courtyard that had seen better days. Weeds poked out of the stones underfoot, and crumbling limestone buildings surrounded the plaza. They had almost passed through when a scream to Will’s left startled him.
He turned to find a darkened doorway leading into a decrepit old temple. Ten-foot pillars were carved into the cracked, blue-hued limestone comprising the face of the building. A swath of faded but elaborate scrollwork ran just below the roofline.
Another scream, ragged and more prolonged. Feminine. Someone in pain. Will stopped walking.
“It’s none of our concern,” Mala said.
The screaming continued. He realiz
ed it was a little girl’s voice, and stepped towards the doorway.
“No!” Mala said, sharply but under her breath. A few other people milled about the square. Will knew she didn’t want to draw attention to the party.
After another scream, he waffled and then stepped into the darkened interior. It wasn’t in him to let someone suffer if he had a choice. Especially a child.
Why wasn’t anyone helping her?
Behind him, Mala barked at everyone else to wait. Will focused on his surroundings and saw a temple dimly lit by torchlight. Friezes of battle scenes and fantastical monsters covered the walls, so covered in grime they were barely recognizable. A group of slender pillars demarcated a section of colored tiles where men and women in rags huddled on the ground, either sleeping or hovered over bowls with green smoke pouring out.
In the far right corner, a heavyset man was whipping a girl of no more than twelve, curled into a ball on the ground. Mala caught up to Will and gripped his arm, but he shook her off and strode towards the man. “Hey!” he said. “That’s enough!”
The man with the whip didn’t respond. Will walked faster and drew his sword. Just before he reached them, the man turned towards Will and grinned. Instead of taking the opportunity to escape, a dagger appeared in the hand of the girl, and she jumped to her feet beside the man.
Will whipped around. The people he had mistaken for beggars and drug addicts had raised into threatening crouches, pulling out scimitars and cutlasses from underneath their blankets. Mala was a few steps behind Will, already reaching for her sash. The rest of the party had remained outside.
As the group of thieves advanced on Will and Mala, four of the men broke off to roll a huge stone in front of the door to the old temple, sealing the exit.
Will reached for his sword as Mala swung her weighted sash in a circle of increasing tempo, until it was a blur of movement. “Well done, Will the Builder,” she said. “You’ve a keen eye for a damsel in distress.”
