by Johnny Cycles, March 6th, 2025
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Chapter 7
“If we have to die, at least we won’t die completely miserable,” Salestia said the next morning. She was lying in the crook of Ton’s arm, her head on his chest, one hand tracing lines along his bare skin.
“We aren’t going to die,” he replied, somewhat coldly given the circumstances.
Which was even more odd after how he’d been the night before; a surprisingly attentive lover, equal parts gentle and rough as it suited her. She hadn’t thought he’d be so kind, given the killer lurking behind his eyes. Perhaps it was the killer returning whom she now heard.
“How do you know?” she mumbled, closing her eyes and pushing her doubts away.
“Because we’re about two days walk from that army,” he answered/ He extracted his arm from under hers and sat up.
“What?” she asked, eyes snapping open. Thoughts of her sister immediately filled her mind. Right after they’d fled the Manor House, she’d entertained the well-worn fantasy of asking Ton to help her save Talinia. After seeing the bloody aftermath of his knives and his magic, she even considered their chances to be pretty good. But then he’d stopped talking. And now he was reaching for his clothes. She pressed herself up and turned him to face her. “Where are you going?”
He grunted, but said nothing. Instead, he silently began dressing.
Anger flared in her chest. She’d seen this kind of behavior before, knew how this story ended. But Ton was different, she was sure of it. “Why are you acting so funny suddenly?” she asked.
He turned away with a grimace.
“No!” she nearly shouted. “We’re not going back to silence! Not after last night!”
“Last night was a mistake,” Ton said quietly, almost as if he wasn’t saying this to her.
Salestia felt her face go hot and her stomach drop. She’d let this duwyn get too close, she realized with a mixture of shame and fury. After all the hard lessons she’d learned from her previous lovers, she infused the word with all the irony and spite it deserved – they’d mostly been rapists – she’d forgotten the most important one of all. She was an object to them, meant to be used if and when they wanted her.
She shook her head. No, this one was different. “Ton,” she started, fighting to keep her voice under control. “Is this about her?”
Ton’s back stiffened, then his head dropped.
Salestia reached a hand out and pulled him into her. He resisted only a moment and then his head was pressed to her breasts and he was shaking with sobs. Salestia made cooing sounds of comfort and reassurance as Ton’s grief ran its course. She wondered if he’d ever properly mourned her. From his drinking and his coldness, she doubted it. Self-destructive behavior didn’t spring from healthy coping mechanisms.
Eventually, Ton straightened and smiled a small smile at her. His eyes were red and his cheeks streaked with wetness. Some of the hardness that edged his face had softened. “I’m an idiot.”
Salestia’s temper flared up once again. Was he really still going to act like what had happened between them wasn’t special? His smile widened and she realized her mistake. “Yes, you are,” she said and reached for him.
Some time later they were again lying in one another’s arms, content and sweaty. “What does this army have to do with us not dying?” she asked eventually, bringing them back to their imminent deaths. “And how do you know where it is?”
He smiled and pushed her hair back behind an ear. “I saw it from the tunnel,” he explained.
She had to fight the urge to press her head against his hand. “And you think it’s a good idea to get closer?” she asked, surprised at the sudden hope that tingled through her torso. She’d mourned the loss of Talinia even while daydreaming about miraculous rescues full of the heroics of her dark-eyed, mysterious hero, never thinking she’d actually have the chance to save her.
“They’ll have food and water.”
“We killed a Dragon,” she said slowly. “Those golems weren’t hunting lion spiders. They were after us.”
“I know.”
“So you think we should get closer to the Empire’s soldiers, not farther away?”
“How else are we going to get your sister back?”
Salestia blinked, too stunned by the words to speak her own. Was Ton really offering to help her? She was unaccustomed to such kindness. Rare had been the times anyone had done something nice for her and when they had, it was usually in an attempt to bed her, not offered after the fact.
“We can’t turn back,” Ton continued. “We can’t stay here forever. We have to cross this desert. We don’t know how long it goes on for, but we do know we’ll need food and water. And we can’t leave your sister to rot. I don’t have to tell you what she’s suffering now.”
Salestia fought back the hope Ton’s words inspired with cold logic. “It’s suicide, though!” She would never see Talinia again. Thinking otherwise was more painful than accepting her loss.
“You saw the army when they passed through Grafdak, right?” Ton asked by way of reply. “Armies like that are not stand-alone entities full of soldiers looking for the enemy. They need food, medics, basic services, entertainment. They’re closer to moving cities than to anything else.”
“So, what?” Salestia asked, still reluctant to open herself to the actual chance she could rescue Talinia. Failure to do so would be like losing her all over again. “We pretend to be some kind of song and dance show? Or magician and assistant?” She laughed a short, harsh laugh.
Ton opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. “That’s not a bad idea.” He shook his head. “No, better not attract unwanted attention. And I’m not much of an entertainer,” he continued, as if thinking aloud. “Armies attract all kinds of traders,” he continued after a moment. “What could be more believable than a couple of trappers looking to make some money?”
“Except we don’t have any furs,” Salestia replied. “Remember?”
Ton’s face brightened. “Trappers looking to buy skins to treat and turn into clothing or rugs, things like that. Whatever can be hunted out here surely has been. We set up shop offering to turn any extra pelts into something useful for a price.”
Salestia gave Ton an appraising look. It could work.
“We won’t need but a day or two,” Ton continued. “I’ll make my way through the camp in search of goods, but really in search of your sister. Once I find her, we can figure out a way to get her out. In the meantime, you can stock up on supplies.”
Salestia shook her head. “If an army really is a moving city, it could take weeks to find her.”
“But you know who took her, right? That should help narrow our search.”
Salestia felt her stomach drop again and all hope they could save Talinia vanished. “There’s something I have to tell you about the duwyn who took her,” she began. “He’s called Ral and he’s the Dragon’s Claw.”
❖
Ton peered over the sandy ridge at the sprawling mass of moving parts below him. The Empire’s army was in constant motion and going nowhere. Either they’d found the enemy, which seemed doubtful seeing as there was nothing but desert on all sides, or they’d called a halt for some reason. Either way, Ton had been more right than he’d known when he described armies as cities. This one seemed to have settled in for good, wooden structures visible among the familiar tents of soldiers. There was a main thoroughfare cutting a straight line through the multitude, with smaller streets shooting off of it at regular intervals. It was all very well organized, laid out as if on a grid.
But that wasn’t the most surprising aspect of what Ton was seeing. No, what Ton’s eyes couldn’t believe was the green he saw everywhere. There were gardens and small trees growing throughout the army’s city-camp. They must have found an oasis, he guessed. That would explain why they’ve lingered so long here. But it had to be an enormous oasis to explain the amount of life he saw. Even the out buildings bordering the main camp had bushes and shrubs around them. It was amazing.
Ton scuttled back down the ridge and headed to their small camp in a dried-up, narrow ravine not far away. Salestia wasn’t happy being left behind, but she was incapable of stealth, he’d realized on a recent hunt she’d asked to go along on, despite her claims otherwise. Maybe she moved quietly for a dwarf, but that was still alarmingly loud and he couldn’t risk giving themselves away before he could properly scout the enemy’s camp.
He still had a hard time believing what had happened between them. It had been completely unexpected and yet somehow unsurprising, at least in hindsight. A part of him still felt guilt and pain over what seemed like a betrayal of her, but those feelings were quickly fading into the background of Salestia. They sprung up mostly when he was alone. When he was with Sal, he felt nothing but an irrational happiness, despite the unlikely nature of their coupling – though dwarves had all the essential parts necessary for physical intimacy – and the grave circumstances.
“Well?” she asked when he made it back. She was sitting impatiently by the unlit fire she’d laid out the previous evening. They hadn’t lit it in case the smoke gave their presence away to the Empire’s scouts, and they’d shivered through a cold night cuddled together.
“Go ahead,” he nodded as he sat, and she quickly got the fire going with the last of the wood they’d brought from the base of the cliff. It was time. They wanted to be found now. “Should we go over the plan again?”
Salestia snorted.
“Right,” he said with a smile. There really wasn’t much to it. They’d set up shop somewhere and then he’d go out looking for this Ral character under the guise of buying skins. The hardest part would be the former, rather than the latter, at least in Ton’s opinion. They didn’t have equipment or gear to set up anything, much less a tent or booth from which to stage their fake tanning operation. They would have to improvise and hope. Salestia, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop reminding Ton of the danger Ral posed. He wasn’t just an important official, she’d told him, he was evil and cruel and clever and…something else, something inexplicable. It was hard for her to put into words what her instincts told her about the duwyn.
“How long do we wait?” Salestia asked.
Ton shrugged and eyed the thin line of smoke their small fire emitted.
They didn’t have to wait long.
Within minutes Ton heard the near silent approach of the Empire’s scouts.
“Don’t move!” came a voice from just above them.
Ton jumped and turned and Salestia let out a small squeak. They had to look surprised if they were going to sell this. First impressions were key. Luckily for them, they didn’t have to do anything to look dirty and desperate; their unplanned trip underground had taken care of that well enough.
“Your lordships,” Ton muttered after a moment, bowing low as he did so to the pair of duwyns standing at the edge of the ravine. They wore the black and gray of the Empire’s army and had short swords at their sides. One held a knocked arrow pointed at Ton’s chest, while the other gripped a long spear. Ton guessed a third and perhaps fourth were circling around behind them as they spoke.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Ton opened and shut his mouth a moment before answering. “Your lordships,” he stammered, “I am a tanner by trade. This is my apprentice,” he waved a hand at Salestia, who cowered behind him. “We heard of the camp here and thought our services could prove useful.”
The man holding the bow snorted. He had a creased face and small eyes. “And make a pretty penny, as well.”
Ton nodded. “Honest pay for honest work.”
The scout lowered the bow and glanced at his companion, a brutish looking duwyn with broad shoulders and a flat face. “Come with us,” the second one said.
“Thank you, your lordships,” Ton gushed, bowing deeply to both of them. “Break camp,” he commanded Salestia with a wave of his hand.
A short while later, the scouting patrol was leading Ton and Salestia along the main road through the large army camp. From up close, it looked even more like a city, neatly divided into residential, mercantile, and administrative districts. The feel of it, though, was all wrong. It was too quiet, for one thing. As they moved down the main road, they passed row after row of tents full of soldiers cleaning armor, making food, or lounging casually around small fires. What was odd was the overall lack of talking, laughing, and shouting that usually accompanied any group of soldiers at rest. Ton had never seen such a silent army. It was if they had already lost the war and were preparing to leave, chagrined and wounded.
Even stranger were the various figures moving through the camp, servants on errands judging from their demeanor. They wore black, loose-fitting pants, but were otherwise naked. And they weren’t duwyns or dwarves or any other creature Ton had ever encountered. They looked like skeletons. No, he realized as one scurried past them, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched. They looked like mummies. There was flesh on their bones, but it looked shrunken somehow, as if all the water had been sucked from their bodies.
Ton exchanged a look with Salestia, who raised her eyebrows at him over worried eyes.
They were nearing the center when they turned down one of the many side roads. Ton glimpsed a wooden wall in the distance and guessed this marked the inner camp where the officers lived. He soon lost sight of it as merchant booths and hastily constructed wooden buildings, mostly bars and restaurants, now lined the street.
The hair on the back of Ton’s neck stood up. Even here, there was an eerie silence, as if they’d stumbled into a funeral service rather than a market. No one shouted or hawked their wares. Instead, duwyns stood rigidly just beside their respective tables. At least, Ton guessed they were duwyns, though it was impossible to tell. They wore light-colored robes with matching wraps covering everything but their eyes, which stared emptily from slits in the cloth. If a few soldiers hadn’t been buying things as they passed, Ton wouldn’t have been sure the things were even alive they were so motionless.
Contributing to the surreal and bizarre impression this place made on Ton were the trees and plants scattered throughout the camp. These gardens were too well organized and varied to be a desert oasis. At least, none that he’d ever heard of. There were far too many types of fruits and vegetables, things that didn’t, couldn’t grow in this climate for it to be natural. They had planted all this, he realized, but why? Who needed trees in a war camp? And how had they made them grow?
They eventually stopped before a surprisingly sturdy looking desk at the front of a large tent in the center of the market area. A large duwyn with tiny spectacles leaned back in a chair behind the table. He had a ledger open before him with an inkpot next to it. He was slowly and systematically gnawing the end of a quill pen while picking his nose.
“Another trader,” the brutish scout announced before turning and disappearing back the way they’d come.
“Name!” the large duwyn said, finger still knuckle deep in one nostril, bespectacled eyes taking Ton in with a glance before flicking to Salestia. They lingered there.
Ton had to fight the urge to slap the fat man. “Ton,” he answered instead. “And my apprentice, Sal,” he continued.
Still the official eyed Salestia, who held his gaze. Eventually and with epic slowness, the duwyn pulled his finger from his nose, examined the efforts of his long labor, then took the quill from his mouth. He held the nose-picking finger erect, as if waiting for them to leave before consuming his prize in solitude. “Trade!” he snapped.
“Tanner,” Ton replied.
For all his worry that their general lack of possessions would be cause for suspicion, the official didn’t seem concerned and ponderously wrote their names in the ledger. From where Ton stood, he could see the man’s script jump and dance erratically across the page. “10 gold.”
“Excuse me?” Ton asked.
“For a spot in the market,” the man laboriously explained. He was nearly panting from the effort.
“That’s absurd!” Salestia said, stepping forward.
The large duwyn looked her up and down again, licking his thick lips as he did so. His breathing was noticeably heavier now. “If you don’t got it, we could come to another arrangement.”
Ton slapped the gold on the table. It was most of what he had squirreled away, but that didn’t matter.
The official sighed in resignation before sweeping the gold into one fleshy palm with a meaty forearm. “Go on,” he nodded slightly at the tent behind him. “Booth’s inside.”
Ton and Salestia entered the large tent and were immediately hit with the stench of unwashed flesh and shit.
Something was very wrong.
Ton turned just in time to glimpse a very large soldier swing a nasty looking club at his face. He fell hard to his knees, head ringing and jaw aching. If not for the magic coursing through him, it would have been broken and he would have been unconscious. He heard Salestia yell and he kicked out blindly towards the man who’d hit him.
“A tough one, huh,” a high-pitched voice remarked.
A rain of club blows sent Ton spiraling into darkness.
Chapter 8
“Welcome travelers from across the sea!” the Lord Dragon said with a half smile from where he sat in the center of an enormous cathedral, the much larger version of the one Sava and the others had stopped in on the way. His throne, for that was what it appeared to be, was surrounded in all directions by row after row of hard-looking benches. The entire cavernous room was made from the same dark, obsidian-like material as the smaller church in the city. The effect was also the same. Deep shadows filled the space in layer upon layer, while the handful of candelabras set along the floor seemed to have the opposite affect of dispelling the darkness, making the blackness that much more consuming. It felt like they were underground, or had somehow been teleported to the deep silence of space.
Besides the Lord Dragon, Ral, Sava, and her crew, two giant stone creatures stood sentry by the tall double doors behind them. Their twins held a similar position opposite, where a matching set of doors led deeper into the church. Sava had at first taken them for statues, but then she’d seen their eyes. There was a light there, a fire that suggested animation, if not life. They held no weapons, but they looked threatening enough not to need them. The Dragon was not left unprotected, despite his Claw’s claims of a peaceful capital where guards were superfluous.
Ral led them down the long central corridor to stand before the Dragon. He was a strange looking duwyn, as tall and as thin as the priest they’d seen leading worship. Even sitting, he was nearly as tall as Ragnar and York, both of whom made Sava look short. His eyes were covered by a strip of cloth attached to the bowl-like hat similar to the one the other priest had been wearing. It gave the Dragon a comical appearance incongruent with his stature and demeanor. His pale face was too narrow, as if it’d been pressed by some great metal clamp and frozen in place. His nose had the same squished appearance, while his mouth was large, with thick red lips hanging above a chin that disappeared back towards his neck before it really got started. He wore deep blue, almost black robes that flayed out at the hands, which he rested on the arms of his throne.
Sava nodded and performed a half bow. “Thank you for your generous hospitality,” she began, trying and failing to read the expression on the Dragon’s face. Without his eyes visible, it was surprisingly hard. She wondered if the all black of the church was somehow related to the blindness, willing or otherwise, of its caretakers. “We have indeed traveled a long way and are most grateful for whatever succor you may provide.”
The Lord Dragon nodded his head, a smile playing across his thick lips. “We are honored that a civilization so advanced as to possess the ability to cross our mighty and vast seas should deem us worthy of a visit.”
Sava repeated her bow. “Not so advanced, your…” she paused and glanced at Ral for help, but the Dragon’s Claw was staring at a space just above the Dragon, the hint of a smile on his lips, as if he were fighting not to let it spread into something more obvious. Had she missed something? “Lordship,” she settled on. “A ship and sufficient determination were all that was necessary. Surely your people possess both?” she asked. Once again she felt as if she were playing a game in which she didn’t know all the rules. Clearly, the Empire was suspicious of Sava and her crew, but she couldn’t figure out if they considered them enemies. If her explanations of their purpose here hadn’t yet satisfied Ral to the contrary, then they probably never would. But she had another opportunity with the Lord Dragon, whose opinion was the one that counted.
As if reading Sava’s thoughts, the Dragon’s smile continued dancing and he asked, “May I inquire as to the purpose of this most gracious and…unexpected visit?”
Direct and to the point, Sava noted, unlike Ral. She could appreciate his bluntness. “We are explorers sent to see what there is to be seen,” she began and gave the same explanation to the Lord Dragon as she’d given Ral earlier.
“Ah, of course.” The Dragon seemed to hum the words more than speak them. “Mutually beneficial trade among peaceful neighbors does indeed sound like a blessing from the Mother Dragon herself, may she rise again.” Here the Dragon made a gesture with his right hand in front of his face, pointing his fingers up, then spreading them wide, as if approximating a blooming flower. From the corner of her eye, Sava saw Ral make the same motion.
Sava smiled, but said nothing.
“Tell me, though,” the Dragon continued, “how beneficial could such trade be if the journey is as long and as arduous as I imagine it must have been. Ral tells me you were at sea for weeks!”
Sava fought to keep her reaction under control. So they did have a way of long-distance communication. Unless Ral had sent a messenger on ahead of them, which was possible, she reasoned. Though who? She’d kept count of their escort each morning and evening. Perhaps he’d sent someone from one of the towns they’d passed? Her mind ran through the possibilities and their consequences in an instant. She wasn’t captain for her good looks, after all. “The voyage was a long one, your Lordship, but with an established trade partner, I believe it could be done in such a way as to be profitable for all. However,” she returned the Dragon’s I-know-more-than-you-do smile, “that is not for me to decide. I am but the trailblazer. It is in the purview of others to determine the value of following in my footsteps.”
“Then we shall eagerly await the arrival of those whose purview it is,” the Dragon replied, standing abruptly as he spoke. “In the meantime, you will be our guests here in the capital. You have been on the road for so long, a sedentary lifestyle won’t go amiss. Ral,” he turned towards the bald, hawk-like duwyn without giving Sava a chance to respond, “show our guests to their quarters.”
“Right away, my Lord Dragon,” Ral said with a deep bow, all traces of his smile gone.
“We shall have a banquet in your honor this evening!” the Dragon said to Sava. “A proper welcome for our esteemed guests! Rest! Clean up! Tonight we celebrate!” he finished with a flourish and a smile.
❖
“Esteemed guests?” York snorted sometime later after Ral had escorted them back down the set of steep, wide steps connecting the church to the main city below and to a squat, stone building. It was a four-story structure abutting the base of the mountain and a short walk from the church. Ral had explained to them as he led them through the maze of corridors to the top floor that this functioned as the residence of the Dragons when they weren’t on the road tending their flock, as he’d put it.
“Most of the rooms are modest,” Ral had explained, “little more than cells, as the Dragons value humility in everything, but the upper floor is more spacious. It once served as our meeting hall, but has since been transformed into chambers for those visitors unaccustomed to our humble lifestyle.”
And their rooms were indeed the opposite of humble. Each crewmember had been given their own suite complete with bath, balcony overlooking the capital or mountain, depending on the side of the building it was on, and sitting room. Servants clothed in the now-familiar head-to-toe black robes hurried in and out at Ral’s command, bringing towels and linens, as well as a variety of refreshments. “I’ll return in four hours to escort you to the banquet hall,” the Dragon’s Claw had said before disappearing downstairs with a smile.
“Seems more like valued prisoners,” York continued now from where he sat on a large sofa in Sava’s sitting room. Ragnar stood on the balcony, while Aura lounged casually in an armchair.
“We knew this was a possibility,” Sava replied, hands resting on the twin axes at her side. They’d been allowed their weapons, but told not to bring them to the feast.
“Why didn’t we just tell them the truth?” Aura asked. She looked tired after her long bath. Each had cleaned up, but none had rested. Sava had ordered this meeting first.
Sava leveled a hard gaze at her crewmember. “Explorers seeking new trade routes landed us in house arrest. Would you rather have been executed?”
Aura shrugged. “It’s a big place, this Empire. And there are other lands, too. Ark and Char’ve explored them.”
“And each has its own people, its own ruler,” Sava answered. “Each would pose problems similar to the ones we’re encountering here.” She paused. “The silence from our rangers confirms as much.”
This put a stop to Aura’s line of questioning. Sava sighed. The familiar doubts over her choice to come here instead of searching for Ark or Char reared up once more and she mercilessly pushed them down. It had been a difficult choice, but it had been the correct one. The Empire was the most advanced and largest of the civilizations occupying this continent. It only made sense to try and build an alliance with them first.
“So what now?” York asked into the silence.
“Kill Dragon,” Ragnar answered, striding into the room with a purpose. “Kill fool. Ride north.”
York shook his head. “Not everything requires blunt force, Ragnar.”
Ragnar smiled. “And Ragnar, son of Ragnar, not so barbaric as you assume.”
“We’re listening,” Sava prompted.
“Land dead,” Ragnar continued. “Who runs land? Who not dead?”
“Dying,” Sava corrected absent-mindedly. She’d been thinking on the dynamic between the Dragons and the people and what it suggested for some time now. As she considered Ragnar’s words, she was once again reminded of her partner’s sharp mind. It was easy to assume a lack of mastery of language suggested a lack of intelligence, and perhaps it did in a native speaker, but this was not Ragnar’s first language. His broken speech was not a reflection of a broken brain.
“It is curious,” York agreed, “how the Church and its representatives seem healthy and happy, while its parishioners look sickly and too apathetic to even be miserable. If this Church is so humble and frugal, why aren’t the roles reversed?”
“Maybe it really is a matter of faith?” Aura suggested.
Sava snorted. “You’re as much a scientist as I am. You know better.”
Aura sat up, her face suddenly flushed. “What I know is there is more out there that we don’t know than we do. To think we have the answers to everything based on the sliver of knowledge we possess is the height of arrogance! And folly!”
Sava smiled. “We’re listening,” she prompted again. She’d called this meeting not to give orders, but to hear what her people had to say. She was not disappointed.
“I’m not saying there’s some all-powerful god out there rewarding its true believers,” Aura continued, some of the heat gone from her voice. “But there may be some other being on this planet doing it. Some powerful, unseen, by us at least, creature that is able to somehow grant life to its followers and death to everyone else. It may be a dragon, it may not be, but it may exist. That’s my point.”
“And it’s a good one,” Sava acknowledged. “We really don’t know what all is out there in this strange land. We lost our eyes and ears before they could complete their reconnaissance.”
“Which brings me back to my question,” York said after Sava didn’t continue. “What now, Captain?”
Sava shot York a look, then began pacing. “If something is draining the life out of this land and its people,” she began, “we can make a few educated guesses.”
“Hypotheses, you mean, Captain scientist,” Aura remarked dryly.
“Ha, ha,” Sava said with no emotion, then continued. “First, Ragnar’s right. Those in power, particularly when they are unaffected by whatever is causing the others to die, are probably connected, if not responsible. Second, as Aura said, it could be another, more powerful creature behind it all, whom they are serving in some capacity, either known or unknown. Third, as far as I can tell, none of us have been affected by whatever it is that’s left the land and most of its people near death, which suggests the process is far from instantaneous.”
“Fourth,” Aura continued when Sava didn’t, “the people further from the center aren’t as sickly. In fact, they appeared to be completely healthy.”
“You would know best on that front,” York remarked dryly.
“Shut it,” Aura snapped, though she had to fight to stop from smiling.
“What with all of that hands on experie…”
“Shut it!” she shouted, blushing furiously.
“Aura’s sex life aside,” Sava took over, “it’s a good point. And one difficult to refute with all the evidence she’s accumulated,” she finished with a grin.
“Seriously?! You too!”
“Stanley good mate,” Ragnar chimed in. “Smallish, but tough.” Ragnar had spent a portion of their evenings on the road teaching Stanley how to use a sword and the book-smart duwyn had proven to be just as fast a learner with the blade as with everything else.
“Arghh!” Aura shouted. “Back to my point!”
“Which is what? That Stanley is a beast in bed?” York asked, trying hard not to laugh.
“Enough,” Sava interrupted before Aura could protest more. “Her point is astute. It supports our assumption that the Dragons, or the being they worship, are behind the sickly nature of the Empire and its people.”
Ragnar grunted his agreement. “Like Ragnar, son of Ragnar, say. Kill Dragon. Kill fool.”
“Unfortunately, we are in their capital, surrounded by their people,” Sava replied. “Even if I called in the rest of the crew, we’d surely lose. And we’d give ourselves away completely in the process. No,” Sava said after a pause in which each weighed her words, “we stay here for now. We learn what we can. Then we make our most humble and ardent apologies and leave.”
“And you think they’ll let us go?” Aura asked.
“Fool know more than seems,” Ragnar seconded.
“I have no idea,” Sava replied. “But Ragnar is right. They know more than it appears.”
“Or they’re hiding something they don’t want us to find,” York suggested.
“Either way, we’re not safe here,” Sava concluded. “Be on your guard. Don’t go anywhere alone, or unarmed. I’ll see what kind of diplomatic progress I can make tonight and over the next few days. Try and broker a peaceful end to this polite imprisonment.”
“Ragnar, son of Ragnar, hope food good at least.”
❖
The Dragon’s Claw arrived to escort them to the banquet a few hours later. Sava had tried to catch up on sleep but her mind hadn’t allowed it. Instead, she lay in the too soft, too large bed and worried. She worried about Char and Ark. She worried about the success of their mission. She worried about the decisions she’d made that had led them to this gilded cage. She worried about the game she was attempting to play with Ral. And she worried about the new player in that game, the Lord Dragon himself.
As each worry rose to the surface of her mind, she analyzed it from all angles, then mercilessly put it to rest. Her rangers were missing. They hadn’t communicated with her or their ship in more months than she could count. They may be dead or captured. They may have abandoned their mission for a life of solitude or leisure. She should have gone after them instead of to the capital. She should have ensured their safety and retrieved the reconnaissance she needed to better complete their mission.
She picked these doubts apart as quickly as a vulture cleans a carcass. Her rangers were trained for the mission they set out on, as was she. It was unlikely either had died, and if they’d been captured, she couldn’t imagine it would be for long. But, in the worst of cases, if they had been killed, then there was nothing she or the others could do about it but grieve. If they had been captured and couldn’t free themselves, how was she to know where they were being held prisoner? They could spend years searching this continent and not find them. Their people didn’t have time for such a hopeless quest.
Sava flung herself from her left to right side, the warm, soft blankets enveloping her instantly the moment she settled. She angrily crumpled the massive pillow below her head and furiously shut her eyes. Ragnar snored softly beside her, oblivious to the inner war waging in her head.
Their people. The fate of their people rested on Sava’s shoulders, hung in the balance of her decisions. And she felt no closer to completing the mission to save them than she had when they’d landed in the stink of Darkmoor. She and the others with her were prisoners of the Lord Dragon himself, while the rest of her crew were holding their noses and their breaths in that aforementioned shithole, doing a whole lot of nothing by way of completing the mission set for them.
She sought the flame. The truth was she had made progress in completing their mission. The Empire was just as much a shithole as Darkmoor, it just stunk less. The only way it would be suitable for her people would be if… Sava shook her head, unwilling or unable to articulate that most horrible of truths. They would find another place. This land was vast. And while they were more or less prisoners, she knew it wouldn’t be for long. She was confident she could navigate the political situation to see them free. If not that, then they would resort to force. The rest of her crew could make themselves more useful if that scenario came to fruition, but for now, they were doing exactly what they’d been trained to do – not interfering with the first stages of their mission.
No sooner had Sava silenced that doubt than another clambered to the surface of her mind. It felt as if she were holding a door against a horde of attackers. Striking one down only made room for another to take its place. Could she play the game well enough to keep them safe? Ral clearly didn’t believe her story and while the Dragon was hard to read, she doubted seriously he would think differently than his Claw. Which meant they thought she was the reconnaissance for a larger, invading force. Which meant they weren’t ever getting out of this place.
She flopped to her back and threw a not so gentle elbow at Ragnar’s side. The barbarian’s snoring skipped a few beats, then resumed its rhythmic marking of his life, one breath at a time.
They may have their suspicions, Sava reasoned, but the Dragon and Ral couldn’t know for sure who they were and why they were here. And they couldn’t risk not finding out by simply killing her and the others. Which, she knew, was precisely the game they were playing. She had to convince them they were not a threat, while the Dragon had to figure out the whole truth behind the halves they were getting from her. In the meantime, both sides would pretend to believe the other – the Dragon that Sava was leading a scouting party to establish new trade routes and Sava that the Dragon’s hospitality was not detainment – until, well, until they didn’t. Sava didn’t know how exactly all of this could go bad, but she knew from experience that the ways were plenty.
Had she made the right decision coming to the capital? And thus the cycle had begun anew, the vanquished attackers at her door turned zombie and rising to assault her again.
“Shall we?” Ral now said to her from the doorway of her chambers, a hand concealed behind his back and a smirk dancing on his face. He had changed into what Sava assumed were ceremonial robes. They were of a lighter blue than those the Dragons wore, and their sleeves didn’t flay out in the same way, but they were otherwise the same, the fraternal twins of those she’d seen the church leaders in. For her part, she and the others had donned their finest clothing, which meant the set of leathers they’d worn least, though each had added a trinket or accessory to spruce up their look.
“After you,” Sava said with a smile and a nod. She stood with a hand lightly resting on Ragnar’s massive forearm.
Ral looked from her to the barbarian and his smirk became somehow oilier. Sava felt Ragnar tense, could nearly hear his teeth grind at the duwyn’s unending capacity for smug condescension, and she squeezed his arm in a way that both reassured him of her affection and reminded him of his role.
York, Aura, and Stanley stood awkwardly in the hall behind the Dragon’s Claw, who still hadn’t turned his appraising gaze from Sava and Ragnar. York cleared his throat. “Usually such pleasantries result in their fruition,” he commented dryly.
Ral turned to look at the large First Mate. His smirk deepened even as his eyes turned from the fiery amusement with which he typically observed Sava to a frosty hostility at another daring to assert control of the situation. “I hadn’t realized you had such a way with words. York,” he added the name almost as an afterthought.
“Well, the world is full of surprises.”
“Indeed,” Ral agreed, letting his gaze travel up and down York’s massive figure, his eyes suddenly lewd. But before York could think of something clever and off-putting to say, Ral spun and set off down the hallway. Whether on purpose or by accident, he took them a different way through the maze-like building than the one he’d brought them to their rooms by. By the time they reached the exit and the staircase leading up to the Church of the Dragon, they’d made more turns than a normal guest would have been able to follow. Sava was not a normal guest.
She smiled at Ral. “Took us by the scenic route, I see.”
Ral returned the smile. “Not at all, my lady. Don’t let the orderly layout of the upper floor fool you. That place is like an anthill, built over time by different architects with different visions.” They were mounting the steps as they spoke, drawing ever nearer to the strange, obelisk-type church. “There are halls and staircases in strange places and leading seemingly in random directions. There are rooms of odd shapes and sizes, some of which can only be accessed by one route. And that’s just what’s above ground. The basement and cellar are even more hive-like.”
“Is that why we weren’t allowed to leave our rooms?” York asked. His tone was casual, but Sava recognized the true nature of the question. So did Ral.
“You may leave at any time,” he said with a laugh. “You aren’t prisoners after all. I encourage you to explore our beautiful capital at length!”
“Under escort, I presume.”
Ral held his hands out wide and shrugged. “We wouldn’t want you getting lost.” He stopped before a pair of large black doors set off to the side of the main entrance to the cathedral. “And it will arouse less alarm in our residents if they see the outsiders properly accompanied about the city.” His smile widened and he held York’s stare a moment. “After you,” he finally said, pushing open the doors to reveal a small antechamber and another set of doors.
Sava led the others inside, then followed Ral through the next set of doors and into a featureless, black-walled auditorium. The room was dominated by tables set up in a large horseshoe shape. Some two dozen Dragons had already gathered and sat silently watching as Ral led Sava and the others to a lone table standing out of place in the middle of the rest. Directly in front of them sat the Lord Dragon. A cluster of half-naked servants who looked more like mummies than duwyns scurried from out of the surrounding darkness with trays of drinks. The Lord Dragon stood.
“Please,” he said, raising his glass. “Let us drink to our travelers from beyond the sea. They have journeyed a very long way to join us in our humble home. May this meeting of strangers prove both peaceful and pleasurable.”
Sava nodded her thanks at the kind words and drank along with the others. The wine was sweet and syrupy and she had to fight to control her features at its taste.
“Now,” the Dragon continued, “enjoy the food and entertainment we have provided.”
The food, though modest, was surprisingly tasty. She may even have enjoyed it except for the growing sense they were being hungrily watched by the Dragons surrounding them. Each had their eyes covered, but it still felt to Sava like they were devouring her and her crew with them anyway. By the end of the feast, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was they who had been the primary course. That the Dragons had picked at their food, pushing it around their plates more than consuming it, only added to the feeling.
Adding to the surreal and eerie feel of the banquet was the lack of sound. It was the quietest celebration she’d ever attended. The strange silence she’d observed in the city blanketed the room, interrupted mostly by the scrapings of forks and knives. Even Ral was remarkably untalkative. The Dragon’s Claw sat closest to the Lord Dragon and was studiously reserved. The entire feast felt more like a wake.
Then the entertainment portion of the evening began and what had felt like an awkward gathering whose creepiness could be explained away by the coming together of strangers from disparate societies became something sinister.
Once the mummy servants had cleared away the last of the meal, a tall, plump woman dressed in flowing black robes glided out to stand before Sava’s table. Her face was painted with lines that made it look more animal than duwyn. She held a pose in silence before them, head high and staring into the deep emptiness of the dark room. Sava wasn’t sure if it was a part of the performance, but the dancer’s eyes looked hollow, lifeless, as if she’d so long been resigned to a horrible fate that only her body remained present to suffer it.
Then she burst into what Sava could only call an interpretive dance. It was like nothing she’d ever seen. As she watched, it slowly became apparent that the dance was meant to tell the story of the mother of the dragons. After a flurry of movements Sava assumed represented the dragon’s early life, four males joined the female dancer in a rush. Her sons. From there proceeded an extraordinarily complex series of choreographed movements between the five dancers. They leapt and spun around one another gracefully and seemingly effortlessly. It was incredible how much they could convey without any words. Sava could sense the warmth and love between mother and sons as they danced.
But just as a small smile split her lips, something in the tone of the dance changed. What felt like familial happiness turned threatening. The four male dancers’ motions became sharper and angrier as they swirled around the female in a faster and ever-shrinking circle. The female spun and twirled tighter and tighter, her arms raised above her head as her sons drew closer and closer.
Then, with a suddenness that shocked Sava, the four males grabbed the female by her arms and legs and began jerking her in opposite directions. She made no sound as they pulled and yanked her in a violet back and forth that at first seemed staged enough. But the sickening reality soon became clear as the mother’s limbs wrenched from their sockets with a stomach-churning sound that Sava would hear in her nightmares. Only at this point did the female scream. The male dancers continued ripping until blood covered the floor and the woman’s torso twitched in its death throes between them.
But they weren’t done. They fell upon her with teeth and nails, ripping and chewing as they ate the still-warm corpse. They feasted for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. Eventually, sated, they gracefully and in practiced motion twirled and spun before coming to a halt, arms outstretched in a posture of power and command, bloody mouths dripping. They had consumed their mother’s life force and with it her power. They were the gods of this world now.
Sava was aghast. They’d just witnessed a most brutal murder under the guise of art or religion or celebration or whatever. It was only her considerable training that kept her still throughout. She could feel the others’ horror, shock, and outrage at what they’d just witnessed. Stanley had bolted from the room, hand over his mouth, as soon as he’d realized what was happening.
The Dragons surrounding them sat motionless for a moment, then began screeching in what Sava assumed was approval. It was the sound of a predatory bird swooping towards its prey.
It sent a shiver down her spine.
❖
“What the hell was that?!” York nearly shouted. He and the others had gathered in Sava’s rooms after the feast. If it could be called that. “They drew and quartered that woman as part of some sick celebration! What kind of religion murders someone for entertainment?”
Sava fought the urge to pace. What they had witnessed had shaken them all, herself included, even though Ral, having seen their reactions, had assured them on the way back that such a performance was considered the highest of honors. Dancers trained their whole lives for the chance to do it. “Stanley?” she turned to the short duwyn, who still looked green in the face.
He blinked. “What?”
“Is such a thing common in the Church of the Dragon?”
Stanley stared silently at Sava a moment, seeing again the dismemberment of the dancer, before finally answering. “Such recreations of the Mother’s life and death are common the Empire over.” He swallowed. “I’ve never heard of it being real. It’s always staged. Wooden, breakaway limbs. Fake blood.” He swallowed again. It looked like he might get sick a second time. He opened his mouth to continue, then shut it.
Sava held his gaze a moment, then turned to face her crew. “This place…these dragons…there’s something wrong with it all.”
“You think?” York asked dryly, his voice harsh and angry.
“No,” Sava shook her head. “It goes deeper than what we just witnessed. And worse, too.”
“What do you mean? Worse than torturing a woman to death, then eating her body?” York asked.
“Or worse than killing the land and its people slowly?” Aura chimed in. It was the first she’d spoken since the feast and her voice was subdued and scared sounding.
“I’m not sure yet,” Sava said, pursing her lips and closing her eyes. Her head ached from it all. The stress, the lack of sleep, the wine…the brutality. “But I think there’s more to learn about these Dragons. A lot more.” She opened her eyes. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”