by C. M. Hayden
As Taro watched the exchange, he felt a waft of air on the back of his neck. It was the slightest thing, and he almost didn’t notice it.
Kyra fell to her knees, trying to catch her breath. Taro thought she’d overexerted herself, but when she looked up, she was smiling like a wolf.
“The most powerful magister in the world?” she asked, looking up at the sky. “Sorry, I’ve met better.”
The breeze on Taro’s neck became a gust, and he was suddenly aware of the flurry of flapping wings overhead. He glanced up, but against noonday sun it was hard to see much of anything. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a dragon set against the cloudless blue sky. It was Kurian.
His wings were like hurricanes as he descended into the pass, landing between Kyra and Rieu. Kurian was a sight to behold; he was larger and bulkier than Antherion, with bright yellow eyes that contrasted heavily against his scales. He was a terrifying sight, teeth like razors, claws like daggers, but Taro felt no fear as the enormous creature landed, roaring and snarling.
Rieu, however, scrambled backwards, unsure of what to make of the monster staring him down. Kurian stood on his hind legs, and his chest glowed red, as if some fire was churning inside his chest. Soon after, he let it loose, and flames erupted from his mouth, moving in a straight stream toward Rieu.
It struck him so forcefully that in mere seconds there was nothing left of the man. His body turned to ashes, and blew away with the force of the fire.
Lift stopped fighting Taro and Fenn, and held his hands up in a calming motion as he backed away. “P-Please. I surrender.”
Kurian’s scales glowed white and he shrank, returning to his human form.
“You’re late,” Fenn said, slapping Kurian on the shoulder.
Lord Cassin’s men didn’t know what to make of Kurian. Cassin was the only one to approach, and inched towards Kyra.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” Cassin said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
Kyra wrapped her arms around Kurian and squeezed him. “Uncle, I told you about Kurian. Remember my letters?”
Some light went on in Cassin’s eyes. “Ah! Yes, of course. It’s been so long, I just…” He nodded. “You’re more impressive in person, lad.”
Kurian smiled self-consciously. “Are you all okay?”
Lord Cassin’s men were tending the dead, two in all.
“No,” Cassin said, momentarily bitter. “But it could’ve been much worse.”
Taro grabbed Lift by the arm, and held him from running. “What do we do with him?” He shook Lift hard. “Stop struggling or you’ll end up a charred stain on the ground, just like your friend.”
“Please,” Lift said, falling to his knees. “Please, let me go, I promise we’ll forget this whole thing.”
“Let him go,” Kyra said wearily.
“Are you sure?” Taro asked.
Kyra nodded. “They’re not our enemies, and the Helians back there need their help.”
“What about our horses?” Fenn asked.
Kurian clapped his hands together. “No need for them,” he said.
“How do you figure?” Fenn asked.
Kurian pointed into the air. “While I was up there, I spotted a town not far from here on the riverside. Lots of people, lots of boats.”
Chapter Thirty-three
The Free Port of Aleth
LokÍr was familiar with the town on the other side of Thrain’s Pass. He called it Aleth, though getting much else out of him was a chore. Ever since he’d seen Kurian’s dragon form, he’d done little else but stare at the boy for hours on end. More than once, Kurian would turn to look at him, and ask if he needed something. He never did.
To the Northmen, dragons were sacred creatures; beings they lived beneath, but few ever saw. Akin to angels or ethereal creatures. Seeing Kurian walking and talking like a normal person must’ve been jarring. Of course, he knew Kurian was a dragon from the beginning, but, as they say, there’s a profound difference between knowing and seeing.
It was considerably warmer on the other side of the mountains, enough so that Taro was able to loosen his thick cloak and stretch his arms. There were only patches of snow, half-melted by the sunlight that peeked through the treetops, and they were beginning to come upon paved roads, a sure sign of civilization.
Lokír’s tongue loosened a bit as they neared the town. The Free Port of Aleth, he explained, was one of several nonaligned locations on this side of the continent. It sat just on the border between Caelis Enor, where the dragons reigned, and Aedris Enor, the classical name for the lands of the Helian Empire.
Taro was familiar with the river that Aleth sat beside. It was the River Cardaeros, the same one that flowed through Helia Edûn hundreds of miles southeast. Thanks to his Ancient Histories lessons with Magister Uldin, he knew it was the widest, longest river on Arkos. It carried an immense amount of trade to and from Helia Edûn, and without it the city couldn’t have become the bustling capital that it was. Since most water-bound trade had to pass through Aleth on its way to the sea, this made it a port of particular importance. However, it wasn’t technically on Helian land, and the Shahl was not foolish enough to march upon the lands of the dragonkin. This positioned Aleth as a Free City, bound to no kingdom or nation and responsible for its own affairs.
Aleth rivaled any Endran town. It had its own defensive walls, tall and gray stone, that cut through the rough mountain terrain, covering areas that were not naturally protected by the mountains. The gates were wide open, and the roads outside were thick with merchant carts.
Taro and company must’ve looked like a raggedy bunch as they approached the gatehouse. Taro’s clothes were torn, his chest was bleeding, and the others weren’t in much better shape. The wagon they walked beside was only large enough for the wounded, and the poor pack mule that pulled it looked like she could use a rest, too.
A port guard stopped them before they passed the gatehouse, and asked them a few obvious questions.
“We were attacked in the pass,” Taro explained, clenching his burned chest.
The pinch-faced guard nodded gravely. “That’s the third attack in a fortnight. See yourselves to an inn, and be glad you survived the ordeal.” He ushered them inside without waiting for a response.
They walked the damp cobblestone streets and got their bearings. It was everything Taro expected from a port town: the sound of harbor bells rang in the distance, the tips of masts peeked over the tall, square buildings, and a dozen ships docked along the riverside. And, given Aleth’s status as a place with many travelers but few citizens, there were a great many inns and taverns.
The inns closest to the acrid smell of the docks were the seediest, while the ones closet to the mayoral manor were more decedent.
Lord Cassin and his men spread under the auspice of finding appropriate accommodations, though it seemed many of them wanted nothing more than a stiff drink to round out their poor trip.
Taro and the others settled on somewhere between seedy and decadent, entering an establishment called the East & Anchor. It was a step up from most of the establishments he’d frequented back in Ashwick.
A burst of cheerful music greeted them when they entered. The strum of lyres and harps, the tapping of drums, and the piping of flutes fluttered through the air, giving the whole tavern a festive feel. Taro looked around, noticing three workers: two pretty, dark-haired serving girls hurrying from table to table, and an overweight innkeeper behind the bar. He was the only one serving drinks, despite it being quite busy. Even so, he took the time to wave to Taro and the rest, and usher for them to find a table.
“Be w’chah in a minute,” the man said in the thickest North Helian accent Taro had ever heard. “Music’s free, enjoy it while yeh wait.”
Taro spotted a free table to the right of the st
age, close enough so they could see the performance, but not so close that they had to talk over the music.
They must’ve been an odd sight, Taro thought. Ragged, for one, but also a collection of very different people. But, in a town like this, odd folks were probably the norm. Taro and Kurian took a seat, followed by Fenn and Kyra shortly thereafter.
“How much money do we have?” Taro asked.
Kyra sifted through a satchel of coins she’d hidden in the lining of her uniform. She set them on the damp tabletop in a neat row. “Four solid sovereigns,” she said, “though I’m not sure if Endran money will fly up here.”
Lokír took one of the coins and bit it with his teeth. “Gold spends everywhere.”
Kyra tossed a coin to Taro. “You boys get us a room, cheap as you can.”
“Are you going somewhere?” Fenn asked.
Kyra nodded, pushing her chair out. “I’m going to check on the wounded, and pick up some medical supplies. Bandages, alcohol. I don’t expect to find a real doctor, but you never know.” She pointed to the burn on Taro’s chest, then to a few wounds on the others. “We’ll need to dress those, too. You don’t want to get an infection.”
Fenn chuckled. “That’d be a great end to our heroic tale, wouldn’t it? We made it to Castiana, fought with dragons and fire wizards, only to die from sepsis.”
“I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Kyra said. “Lokír, could you come with me? I remember you saying you know medicinal herblore. I know a bit myself, but I’d value a second opinion.”
Lokír bowed graciously, and they started for the door together.
“Don’t you three get into trouble,” Kyra said as the door swung closed.
Since there was no rush in getting a room, Fenn and Kurian flagged down one of the serving girls and bought drinks. Moments later, she set three tall, ceramic tankards in front of each of them. Each tankard was handmade, and painted with fish and colorful shells around the sides. Froth spilled over the sides, and Fenn took a large gulp from his, wiping the froth from his lips.
“Gods below, that’s good,” he said. “Like cinnamon and honey wrapped in sex.”
Kurian gave him a sideways glance. “Interesting analogy.”
“Clearly you’ve never had fine mead from the foothills of Faldos.” Fenn made an inarticulate gesture with his free hand. “The honey coming out of Faldos is the purest, richest honey you’ll ever have. And when the winemakers turn it into wine, they pour their souls into it.”
Kurian laughed. “I’ve never heard you so passionate.”
“I grew up in Faldos,” Fenn said wistfully. “My dad wanted me to step on grapes for a living, just like him.” He shrugged. “Not my calling, but I can still appreciate the craft.” He reached out and nudged Kurian’s tankard closer to him. “Go on.”
Kurian took a light sip. Then another. Then a third. Finally, he upended the tankard, cleaning out its contents with an ease that made Taro wince.
Kurian wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and his yellow eyes widened. “Wow, when you’re right, you’re right.”
Taro took a few errant sips, but his eyes were focused on the stage performance. A young, golden-haired flutist sat on a stool in the middle of the stage. As she played, Taro focused on the movements of her fingers as they danced across the shimmering silver casing.
She certainly could play, and a few moments into her solo, she was joined by a lutist. They played together in harmony, and for a moment the sailors and merchants sitting around the room were quiet.
Kurian and Fenn were having a conversation as Taro watched the performance, but he missed most of it.
“—it’s just a question,” Fenn said defensively.
Kurian gave him a frank look. “Are the mechanics really that important?”
Fenn scratched his ear. “Just curious. I never could work up the courage to ask Antherion, not that he’d give me much of an answer.”
“Ask him what?” Taro asked, lost as to what they were talking about.
Fenn leaned in. “Where do their clothes go?”
“What?” Taro asked, scrunching his face.
“When dragons transform. Their human forms have clothes, but when they change, boom, no clothes. I was just wondering where they went.”
Taro looked at Fenn as if he were a madman. “After all you saw in Castiana, all the ancient texts you’ve read over the years, this is the question you want answered?”
Fenn shrugged easily, his voice slurred, and Taro realized he was on his third drink. “Listen, if Kurian doesn’t want to answer, he doesn’t have to.”
Taro stood, pushing out his wooden seat. “I’m going to go get our rooms set up. Keep an eye on him, would you, Kurian?”
Kurian gave a two-fingered salute, and continued his banter with Fenn.
The bar was still busy, but two other workers had arrived and lightened the load of the over-worked innkeeper. He was taking a break, chatting with some of his customers about how they liked the performers.
Taro clenched his walking stick, and slowly sat across from the man. His chest still stung, but the mead helped dull the pain.
“Excuse me,” Taro said, “hope you don’t mind if I sit.”
The innkeeper noticed his prosthetic, and nodded. “O’course not, young sir. How can I help you?”
The man’s voice was perfectly polite, though there was something off about his tone.
“Just looking for a room, enough for me and three friends for the night. And maybe a lead on booking passage on two ships in the morning.”
“Two?” the innkeeper asked.
“One heading upriver, one heading downriver,” Taro explained.
“Downriver? How far down are we talking?”
“To Helia Edûn.”
The innkeeper nodded and sipped from his mug, sniffling a bit. “Plenty of merchants going both ways. I recommend Captain Tristam or Cidricks, honest merchants if ever they existed. They’re docked down by the Charter Hall, over on Plenary Road some ways.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
“And we should have free room here, I believe.”
“How much do you charge?”
“Depends on what kind of coin you have, lad. Bits or shekels, rivets or true-ringing drachma.”
Taro held up a single gold sovereign, and the innkeeper’s eyes lit up. “My, the king’s coin is rare in these parts. I have to say, I pegged you for Endran, but I weren’t sure. What’re your kind doing in one of the Free Cities?”
“You have to get Endrans here now and again,” Taro said, dodging the actual question.
“One or two a moon, and none so young as you lot. One young’un, I’d mark as a curiosity, three’s a pattern, but all of you coming not long after that last Endran girl, now that’s a mystery I got to ask about.”
Taro’s eyes lit up. “Endran girl?”
The innkeeper seemed pleased by his response, and leaned back, tapping his fingers on his bulbous stomach. “My, yes.” He held out one flat hand. “About this tall, younger than you. Ciridin to her bones, but she was traveling with a Helian entourage. I don’t rightly remember her name. Nina? Noma?”
“Nima,” Taro said.
“That’s the one. She came up from Helia Edûn, was looking for someone.”
“Who?” Taro asked seriously.
The innkeeper tapped the gold sovereign Taro had set on the tabletop. “After your rooms and such, there’ll be a great deal of change off a gold sov. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the wealth, young lord?”
“I’ll give you half,” Taro said, “just tell me what you know.”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Half? Dear me, I would’ve been happy with a stray copper.” He leaned in, his belly moving the table slightly. �
�I don’t mean to pry, but what’s she to you?”
Taro’s words caught in his throat. “She’s my sister.”
The innkeeper nodded. “Not too much to say,” he explained. “She had a fire in her eyes I ain’t seen in a while. On official imperial business. Asked a lot of questions, made a lot of threats, but didn’t buy a single drink. Didn’t want a room neither, now she’s over at that bastard Halfed’s so-called high-class establishment. Bunch of—”
Taro stood immediately, setting both hands on the edge of the table. “What did you say?”
The innkeeper looked confused. “He’s the owner of the Riverstone. Thinks he’s better than—”
“Not that,” Taro interrupted. “Nima. She’s still in town?”
“Aye, I’d suppose so. She said she’d be at the Riverstone if we remembered anything about a fellow named Praxis. I never thought she meant the Shahl’s oldest.”
Taro left the gold sovereign on the table and hurried through the barroom, snaking past people as fast as his prosthetic would take him. When he reached the door, the innkeeper stood, brandishing the coin he’d left and shouting, “Boy? Boy! You forgot your change.”
Taro gestured to Fenn and Kurian. “Give it to them.”
The two boys seemed like they’d just noticed Taro leaving.
“Where the hell are you going?” Fenn blustered. “Taro?”
Taro shut the door behind him, not answering. Outside, the sky was black, the air was cool and crisp, and a bit of rain pattered down on his head. He scanned around the townscape. Nima was out there.
Chapter Thirty-four
The Way Things Were
The Riverstone Inn wasn’t hard to find. Taro crept through the dark streets, trying not to be seen. He didn’t exactly know how Nima would react to seeing him, but if she was travelling with Vexis, his mere presence could cause problems. He needed to find Nima, and convince her to come back with him.
